human
Master, he whispered,
gpt
The _jinnee_ of the waste? the Master answered, in a low tone.
human
What nonsense is this?
gpt
The simoom, Master--the storm of sand. We call it the work of evil spirits!
human
calling on a patron saint, died before the last word,
gpt
Strong medicine for the Beni Harb, Lieutenant, said he.
human
Their own _imams_ (priests) have strong medicine, too, but not so strong as that of the cursed sons of Feringistan. Sleep already lies heavy on the eyelids of these sons of Allah. And a deeper sleep shall soon overcome them. Tell me, Lieutenant, can you kill men wholesale?
gpt
Yes, my Captain.
human
Sleeping men, who cannot resist you? Can you kill them scientifically, in masses, without anger?
gpt
How do you know now, my Captain, that it will not be in anger? And the Frenchman half eased himself up on hands and knees, peering forward into the night.
human
After what these Beni Harb--or their close kin--have done to me and to poor Lebon--listen! What was that?
gpt
What do you mean?
human
That far, roaring noise?
gpt
It is nothing! A little wind, maybe; but it is nothing, nothing! Come, I am ready for the work!