Laila Ahara

Out the gate and back into the street, into sunlight and noise. The noonday bell had rung, and close by in the courtyard of religious students, the girls and boys were singing a paean to the Bright Sister, the Queen of Heaven. Their sweet, high voices rose and swelled in one rapturous cry after another, until it seemed to Laila that her own heart was soaring into the upper air, lifted up on that great prayer sung by a thousand voices.