premise: Of how , when tea was done , and everyone had stood , He reached for my head , put his hands over it , And gently pulled me to his chest , which smelledOf dung smoke and cinnamon and mutton grease.I could hear his wheezy breathing now , like the prophet 's Last whispered word repeated by the faithful.Then he prayed for what no one had time to translate -- His son interrupted the old man to tell him a groupOf snake charmers sought his blessing , and a blind thief.The saint pushed me away , took one long look , Then straightened my collar and nodded me toward the door .
hypothesis: When tea was done , he put his hands on me romanticalky .