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Updated: June 14, 2025
Kafka said nothing, but his bloodshot eyes glared up angrily at the tall man's face. "He looks dangerous, and he still has that thing in his hand," said Keyork Arabian. "I think I will give him ether at once while the Individual holds him. Perhaps you could do it." "You will do nothing of the kind," the Wanderer answered. "What a coward you are, Keyork!" he added contemptuously.
"You were not formerly so slow to understand me," said the strange little man with some impatience. "Do you know a lady of Prague who calls herself Unorna?" the Wanderer asked, paying no attention to his friend's last remark. "I do. What of her?" Keyork Arabian glanced keenly at his companion. "What is she? She has an odd name." "As for her name, it is easily accounted for.
The Wanderer, when Keyork Arabian had left him, had intended to revisit Unorna without delay, but he had not proceeded far in the direction of her house when he turned out of his way and entered a deserted street which led towards the river. He walked slowly, drawing his furs closely about him, for it was very cold.
It struck me that, if you would, you might save him. I know something of his story, though not much. He once loved a young girl, now doubtless dead, but whom he still believes to be alive, and he spends or wastes his life in a useless search for her. You might cure him of the delusion." "How do you know that the girl is dead?" "She died in Egypt, four years ago," answered Keyork.
I would have gone with you. I would have helped you." "An accident quite an accident," answered Keyork, divesting himself of his fur coat. "The lock is a peculiar one, and in my hurry I forgot to show you the trick of it." "I tried to get out," said Unorna with a forced laugh. "I tried to break the door down with a club. I am afraid I have hurt one of your specimens." She looked about the room.
"As we hope to find forgiveness and trust in a life to come," they answered. There was a low sound in the air, unearthly, muffled, desperate as of a strong being groaning in awful agony. When they looked, they saw that Keyork Arabian was gone. The dawn of a coming day rose in Unorna's face as she sank back. "It is over," she sighed, as her eyes closed.
"So that unless you have a serious objection to my presence," he said, continuing his former speech, "you will have me as a guest so long as Israel Kafka is here." Keyork Arabian saw no immediate escape. "My dear friend!" he exclaimed with alacrity. "If you are really in earnest, I am as really delighted.
Keyork had many acquaintances and seemed to posses everywhere a certain amount of respect, whether because he was perhaps a member of some widespread, mysterious society of which the Wanderer knew nothing, or whether this importance of his was due to his personal superiority of mind and wide experience of travel, no one could say.
There were one or two quickly drawn breaths and the breathing ceased altogether. At that moment Keyork returned carrying a bottle of wine and a glass. "It is too late," said the Wanderer gravely. "Israel Kafka is dead." "Dead!" exclaimed Keyork, setting down what he had in his hands, and hastening to examine the unfortunate man's face and eyes.
"I had supposed from what you said of her that she made a profession of clairvoyance, or hypnotism, or mesmerism whatever may be the right term nowadays." "It matters very little," answered Keyork, gravely. "I used to wonder at Adam's ingenuity in naming all living things, but I think he would have made but a poor figure in a tournament of modern terminologists. No.
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