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ZABNOOL
Ah, little servant of Death.
[He produces flowers.]
Flowers, master, flowers. All the way from
Nowhere.
[He produces birds.]
Birds, master. Birds from Nowhere.
Sing, sing to the Shereef. Sing the little
empty songs of the land of Nowhere.
[He seats himself on the ground facing
JOHN. He puts the bowl on the ground.
He places a piece of silk, with queer
designs on it over the bowl. He partly
draws the silk away with his left hand and
puts in his right. He brings out a young
crocodile and holds it by the neck.]
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