But the idea of actually sticking the blade into him while he slept, even after all he had done to her, sickened her. She had to do it, she told herself. She had to. Otherwise she would never be free. She remembered the words of an old Janis Joplin song. Something about how “freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” Well, she had nothing left to lose all right, she thought, and grimly closed her handbag clasp.

Fatma came in to take her to the Master’s quarters. She followed the concubine down the hall to Abdul Sa’ad’s apartment, her belly-dancing costume swishing and tinkling like coins as she walked. Her palms began to sweat. She wondered how she would ever get through this night. You’ve nothing left to lose, she told herself. All she had to do was let him do whatever filthy things he wanted one last time. Just till he finally fell asleep. Then it would be all over, one way or another.

Abdul Sa’ad was still wearing his robe when they entered, bowing to him. With a flick of his finger, he dismissed Fatma and started the stereo. The room exploded with the sound of hard rock and Kelly mechanically began to dance, grinding her pelvis in erotic rhythms. Abdul Sa’ad lit a cigarette and slumped back on the cushion. There were circles under his eyes. She had never seen him so distracted.

She rolled her belly and bumped her hips faster and faster, the tassels on her costume bobbing wildly. She began to strip slowly and sensuously in time to the music. Abdul Sa’ad nervously tapped his leg in rhythm with the beat. Sweat glistened on his forehead, but his eyes were heavy-lidded as if drugged. She removed her bra and bent forward so he could watch her breasts swaying above his face. A pearl of sweat dripped from the curve of her breast down on to his face, but he seemed not to notice. His eyes were closed. He was either asleep or in a trance.

Was it time? she thought wildly. The letter-opener was still in her bag. If he opened his eyes now he would order them to kill her. But she felt she couldn’t stand it another second. It made her skin crawl to be near him.

She picked up the bag and opened it. The letter-opener gleamed in the light. She crouched over him, her hand clenched around the opener poised over his throat.

A single stab and she was free, she thought. But it was so horrible to stick it into him. He was beginning to come out of it. She had to do it now, she steeled herself.

She had started to raise the opener when there was a commotion in the hallway outside. Quickly she slid the opener under a silk cushion and stepped away to resume her dance.