As a young man my fingers were like those of three men.
"Shall a man treat his wife as she, Louise, was treated?
Shall a man raise his hand against his wife, and live?
also, was he to live--the low man--that struck a high man like me with his hands, with the whip, with his feet, stamping upon me on the ground?
Was that to be, and he live?
Were the young that should have but one nest to be parted, to have only sorrow, if Joel lived?
So I killed him with my hands" (he slightly raised his clasped hands, as though to emphasize what he said, but the gesture was grave and quiet)"-- so I killed him, and so I must die.
"It was the duty of my friends to kill me by the Yang-tze-kiang.

It is your duty, you of the low people, to kill me who has killed a low man; but my friends by the Yang-tze-kiang were glad that the ruler died, and you of the low people are glad that Joel is dead.

Yet it is your duty to kill me....

But it shall not be." He quickly reached out his hands and drew the burning brazier close to his feet; then, suddenly, from a sleeve of his robe he took a little box of the sacred tortoise-shell, pressed his lips to it, opened it, poured its contents upon the flame, leaned over with his face close to the brazier and inhaled the little puff of smoke that came from it.
So for a few seconds--and then he raised himself and sat still with eyes closed and hands clasped in his long sleeves.

Presently his head fell forward on his breast.
A pungent smell passed through the chamber.