HAREM
She was elegantly dressed and her emeralds were real, as
were the tears washing her cheeks. Maryse paused by the ascenseur, shifted the
towels to one arm and touched the thin hand.
“May I help you, Madame?”
The woman drew a calming breath. “How old are you, child?”
“Sixteen, Madame.”
“At sixteen I was imprisoned behind a screen of this
design.” She gestured at the metal grille. “For a moment just now I was back in the
harem.”
“How did you escape?”
“My babies were girls, so my husband sold me to a merchant.”
She smiled. “Our sons still run the business.”
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