Thus, they would call their dogs and their asses by his name, and the dogs would be the scabbiest in the streets, and the asses the laziest in the market.
He would be caught in the crush of the traffic at the town gate or at the gate of the Mellah, and while he stood aside to allow a line of pack-mules to pass he would hear a voice from behind him crying huskily, "Accursed old Israel! Get on home to your mother!" Then, turning quickly round, he would find that close at his heels a negro of most innocent countenance was cudgelling his donkey by that title.
He would go past the Saints' Houses in the public ways, and at the sound of his footsteps the bleached and eyeless lepers who sat under the white walls crying "Allah! Allah! Allah!" would suddenly change their cry to "Arrah! Arrah! Arrah!" "Go on! Go on! Go on!" He would walk across the Sok on Fridays, and hear shrieks and peals of laughter, and see grinning faces with gleaming white teeth turned in his direction, and he would know that the story-tellers were mimicking his voice and the jugglers imitating his gestures.
His prosperity counted for nothing against the open brand of God's displeasure.

The veriest muck-worm in the market-place spat out at sight of him.

Moor and Jew, Arab and Berber--they all despised him! Nevertheless, the disaster which had befallen his house had not crushed him.

It had brought out every fibre of his being, every muscle of his soul.

He had quarrelled with God by reason of it, and his quarrel with God had made his quarrel with his fellow-man the fiercer.
There was just one man in the town who found no offence in either form of warfare.