" There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. . "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. The man lingered. . They are for serving me. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours.
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