And he gave me the knife. It was sharp and pointed, with a design in gold laid on the steel, and a silver handle, with red stones.
"It is an Arabian knife," he explained to me. "I use it for cutting pages of books, and at night I put it under my pillow. There is a rumor abroad that I am rich and there are poor people living about me, and my cell is out of the way."
The knife as well as the hands of Anthony had a rich, peculiar perfume, which almost intoxicated me and made my head swim.
"Let us talk a little more," Anthony continued in his low, deep, soft voice. "Do you know that a woman comes to see me?"
"So I heard."
"It is not true that she is my sister. I sleep with her."
"Why do you talk of these things to me?" I asked.
"So that you will be shocked once and for all and not continue to be surprised. You like worldly books?"
"I have never read them."
He took from the book-case a little book bound in red leather and gave it to me.