"You are my best friend, Unorna." Unorna's anger rose within her.

She remembered how in that very place, and but a month earlier, she had offered Israel Kafka her friendship, and it was as though a heavy retribution were now meted out to her for her cruelty on that day.

She remembered his wrath and his passionate denunciations of friendship, his scornful refusal, his savage attempt to conquer her will, his failure and his defeat.

She remembered how she had taken her revenge, delivering him over in his sleep to Keyork Arabian's will.

She wished that, like him, she could escape from the wound of the word in a senseless lethargy of body and mind.