And still I stood with closed hands in the shade of
the tree; and the people cried out that I was holy, and placed their
offerings in my bowl; and I could not make up my mind to abnegate the
title they gave me and become as they were. And still I grew in inward
wickedness, till I loathed myself as if I were some vile reptile; and so
the struggle went on, and was still going on when I opened my eyes and
found myself again at Bon Repos."
As Platzoff ceased speaking, Cleon applied the light, and Ducie in his
eagerness drew a little nearer. Platzoff was dressed a la Turk, and sat
with cross legs on the low divan that ran round the room. Slowly and
deliberately he inhaled the smoke from his pipe, expelling it a moment
later, in part through his nostrils and in part through his lips. The
layer of tobacco at the top of the bowl was quickly burnt to ashes. By
this time the drug below was fairly alight, and before long a thick
white sickly smoke began to ascend in rings and graceful spires towards
the roof of the room. Cleon was gone, and a solemn silence was
maintained by both the men. Platzoff's eyes, black and piercing, were
fixed on vacancy; they seemed to be gazing on some picture visible to
himself alone.
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