"Listen a moment!" she called after a while. "Ojen wants to read his latest—a prose poem."
And they settled down to listen.
Ojen brought forth his prose poem from an inside pocket; his hands trembled.
"I must ask your indulgence," said he.
But at this the two young students, the close-cropped poets, laughed loudly, and the one with the compass in his fob said admiringly:
"And you ask for our indulgence? What about us, then?"
"Quiet!"
"The title of this is 'Sentenced to Death,'" said Ojen, and began:
For a long time I have wondered: What if my secret guilt were known?…
Sh….