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 CHAPTER XVI SOME OLD FRIENDS AND SIR PETER TWEET has eaten ham sandwiches in the Jumma Musjid. It doesn't sound very dreadful unless you know, and I guess the people who ate those ham sandwiches didn't know. But, as everybody says, they ought to have known. Fortunately, I am not a sandwichy sort of person myself, and I had sternly repressed Berengaria's desire to go armed to the State Entry with a nasty little paper packet of them. For all I know, that little paper packet may have contained ham. Anyway, it was lucky we left them behind, for I should never have felt quite the same again if I had eaten ham sandwiches in the Jumma Musjid. You see, it was like this. Anything in the way of pig is Anathema to the Mussulman, who consequently knows nothing of the delights of ham, bacon, and pork. It's not a mere fast-on-Friday sort of thing: they are forbidden during all their lives to touch it. That's why I am so particularly glad I was not born a Mahomedan. If I was told that there was anything I must not eat as long as I