Read the excerpt from iqbal. my first impression was that he was handsome. then i thought, no, he isn't really good-looking. but he had such eyes. they were sweet and deep and they weren't afraid. he was standing at the threshold of the workroom with hussain khan's enormous hand gripping his arm and we were all looking at him. the fourteen of us child-slaves plus karim, all observing another slave. he was one of the many who had come and gone over the years, but we felt that somehow, this new boy was different. he looked around at us, one by one. he was sad, of course, like anyone who has been away from home for a long time, like anyone who is little more than a slave, like anyone who can't imagine what will become of him. but i'm telling you this: he wasn't afraid