Then, inch by inch, the lines were cut or pricked out on the quivering, but unflinching, human copper-plate.
The blood was wiped away and the _narahu_ (blue dye) infused.

In the course of weeks, months, or years, as leisure, wealth, or endurance permitted, the work was completed.

In no other society did the artist have his patron so completely at his mercy.

Not only was a Moko expert of true ability a rarity for whose services there was always an "effective demand," but, if not well paid for his labours, the tattooer could make his sitter suffer in more ways than one.

He could adroitly increase the acute anguish which had, as a point of honour, to be endured without cry or complaint; or he could coolly bungle the execution of the design, or leave it unfinished, and betake himself to a more generous customer.