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 both heavily and unjustly. And I felt that my race must watch its opportunity to get hold of that whip.

The arrival of Chakendé, and later of Nashan and Semmaya, brought into my friendship with Djimlah a feeling which did not exist before. It is true that, on the first day we met, Djimlah and I almost fought over the bravery of our respective nations, and her assumption of equality before God had almost ended our friendship; yet never by word or sign did she do anything to rouse our racial antagonism. But when the two of us grew into a group, and of that group I remained the only Greek, they sometimes forgot, and spoke unguardedly.

One day, for example, when Djimlah's grandfather had given each of us some money to spend, we were waiting for the afternoon vendor to pass in order to buy candy. We waited for a long time—unendurably long, we thought—before the stillness of the afternoon vibrated with the words:

"Seker, sekerji!"

We rushed to the door, pennies in hand, and stamped impatiently for the white-clad figure to come near. Then Chakendé exclaimed peevishly:

"Oh, it isn't Ali. It's the Christian dog. Let's not buy of him—let's wait for Ali."

In an instant I was transformed. I was wholly the child of my uncle, wearing the Turkish yoke. I got hold of Chakendé's two long braids, and