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He preferred the little man's silence to his wild talk, but he was determined, if possible, to extract some further information concerning Unorna, and before many seconds had elapsed he interrupted Keyork's meditations with a question. "You tell me to see for myself," he said. "I would like to know what I am to expect. Will you not enlighten me?"

On the one side of the line stands Keyork Arabian, on the other floats the shadow of an annihilation, which threatens to swallow up Keyork's self, while leaving all that he has borrowed of life to be enjoyed, or wasted by others.

He thought therefore that his expression of sympathy had been sufficient and could pass muster. "I asked you to come," said Beatrice at last, "because I wanted your help in a matter of importance to myself. I understand that you know a person who calls herself Unorna, and who lives here." Keyork's bright blue eyes scrutinized her face. He wondered how much she knew.

Keyork got out with him and stood upon the pavement while the porter took the slender luggage into the house. He smiled as he glanced at the leathern portmanteau which was supposed to have made such a long journey while it had in reality lain a whole month in a corner of Keyork's great room behind a group of specimens.

"And now for your story," he added, brushing the brown drops from his white moustache with a small damask napkin which the Individual presented to him and immediately received again, to throw it aside as unfit for a second use. "I hardly think that we can afford to linger over supper," the Wanderer said, noticing Keyork's coolness with some anxiety. "The case is urgent.

As has been seen, it chanced to be her turn to superintend the guest's quarters at that time, and the portress had of course informed her immediately of Keyork's coming, in order that she might tell Beatrice. "He is there!" she said, as she came in. Beatrice was standing before the little mirror that hung upon the wall, trying, under no small difficulties, to arrange her hair.

Keyork's precautions were in reality useless and they merely illustrate the ruthlessly selfish character of the man. The Wanderer would in all probability neither have attempted to leave the house with Kafka that night, nor to communicate with the servants, even if he had been left free to do either, and if no one had disturbed him in his watch.

Keyork's bright eyes flashed with amusement. "What are you doing here I mean in this church?" He put the question suddenly. "Pursuing an idea, if you please to call it so." "Not knowing what you mean I must please to call your meaning by your own name for it. It is your nature to be enigmatic. Shall we go out? If I stay here much longer I shall be petrified instead of embalmed.

She sat down upon one of the stiff chairs and motioned to him to follow her example. "And your dear father how is he?" inquired Keyork with suave politeness, as he took his seat. "My father died a week ago," said Beatrice gravely. Keyork's face assumed all the expression of which it was capable. "I am deeply grieved," he said, moderating his huge voice to a soft and purring sub-bass.

His whole manner changed and he came forward with his usual, almost jaunty step. "And now that you are quite harmless, my dear friend," he said, addressing Israel Kafka, "I hope to make you see the folly of your ways. I suppose you know that you are quite mad and that the proper place for you is a lunatic asylum." The Wanderer laid his hand heavily upon Keyork's shoulder.