22 remained skeptical, repeatedly muttering, “Where has this dagger gone?” The following morning, I left the house carrying my golden dagger, which I had kept hidden from my mother all night. I had wrapped it in an old piece of ghutra fabric to keep it out of sight. Had my mother persisted in seeing it, I would have reluctantly shown it to her. Yet, my concern was that she might have taken it upon herself to secure it in one of her lockboxes, where I would have no access to it. At the café, I handed Ahmad Al-Mulla my golden dagger, which he promptly took to his wife and then returned with a fabric pouch filled with money. I sat in a
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