Tourist. Policeman, there he is, the fakir, the swindler.
Pastor. Policeman, there he is, the adulterer, the murderer, the coveter of his neighbor’s ass—
Policeman. Excuse me, excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. We will bring him to his senses in short order and make him confess.
Hotel Keeper. I can’t make him fall if he doesn’t want to.
Policeman. Hey, you, young man out there! Can you fall or can’t you? Confess!
Unknown Man (sullenly). I don’t want to fall!
Voices. Aha, he has confessed. What a scoundrel!
Tall Tourist. Write down what I dictate, policeman— “Desiring—for the sake of gain to exploit the sentiment of love of one’s neighbor—the sacred feeling—a-a-a—”
Tourist. Listen children, they are drawing up an official report. What exquisite choice of language!
Tall Tourist. The sacred feeling which—