g the torments of the grave
without having died。 Unawares； we’ve sunk to our necks in sin because of you；
and now you’re preaching ”more courage。“ You’re the one who’s made me a
murderer。 Nusret Hoja’s rabid henchmen will kill us all。”
The less confident he became； the more he raised his voice and the more
fiercely he gripped the inkpot。 Would somebody passing down the snowy
street hear his shouting and enter the house？
“How did you kill him？” I asked； more to buy time than out of curiosity。
“How did you chance to meet at the mouth of that well？”
“The night Elegant Effendi left your house； he came to me；” he said； with an
unexpected desire to confess。 “He said he’d seen the final double…leaf painting。
I tried at length to dissuade him from making an issue out of it。 I got him to
walk over to the area ravaged by the fire。 I told him I had money buried near
the well。 When he heard that； he believed me…What better proof that an
illustrator is motivated by greed alone？ That’s another reason I’m not sorry。
He was a talented； but mediocre artist。 The greedy oaf was ready to dig into
the frozen earth with his fingernails。 You see； if I truly had gold pieces buried
beside that well； I wouldn’t have had to do away with him。 Yes； you hired
yourself quite a miserable wretch to do your gilding。 The dearly departed had
finesse； but his choice of color and application was ordinary； and his
illuminations were uninspired。 I didn’t leave a trace…Tell me； then； what is
the essence of ”style‘？ Today； both the Franks and the Chinese talk about the
character of