Hania Geha brought an ergile to her grandfather’s bedside although he was too ill to smoke it. As she watched him sleep, she knew guiltily that a thousand ergiles wouldn’t make him a bit happier. There was only one thing she could do for him now-the big thing; the practically impossible thing.
The doctor, Rachid Maloof, was sitting beside the bed, holding the old man ‘s fragile hand in his powerful one. As Hania put down the ergile she brushed against the dark young man and, as always, agonizing shyness brought on by contact with the self-assured Arabic American reddened her cheeks. She went quickly to the window. …
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