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 Kemal then asked us about our families, how old we were, and if we would renounce our religion and say the Mohammedan oath. One girl, whose name I do not know, but whom I had often seen in our Sunday school at Tchemesh-Gedzak was not brave enough to refuse. The Kurds had treated her cruelly, and the one who had carried her away had beaten her when she cried. She moaned, “Yes, yes, God has deserted me. I will be true to Mohammed. Please don't beat me any more.”

When she had said this Kemal smiled and put his hand on her head. “You are wise. You will not be punished if you continue so.”

The second girl would not forsake Christ. “You may kill me if you wish,” she said, “and then I will go to Jesus Christ.” As soon as she had said this a man servant dragged her out of the room. I looked at Kemal Effendi, but he was still smiling, as soft and smoothly as if he could not be otherwise than very gentle. I could see that he was more cruel even than people had said of him.

When Kemal Effendi spoke to me his voice was very soft. I can still remember it made me feel as if some wild animal's tongue was caressing my face.

“And you, my girl,” he said, “are you to be wise or foolish?”

“God save me,” I whispered to myself again, and then something seemed to whisper back. I heard