“And my ten shekels?” howled Gudea, struggling in the clutch of ten men.
“Let the crows weigh them out to you,” groaned Joram, in his agony.
“And may I not engage to wail at the funeral?” pleaded Binit, never setting safety before business.
“Screech at your own,” admonished many at once.
Khatin joined the rest in thrusting the necromancers very ungently into the street.
“Good people,” said Isaiah to those yet in the court, “this is the house of death. Let all who are needless here go their ways.”
“You shall repent this!” belched Gudea, as they haled him away, but none heeded him.
The servants drove the rabble from the court. The portals clanged; the household was left to its grief. Khatin was laughing like a jackass.
“Ah, my wise raven! Ah, my sweetly chirping sparrow! How amiably the demons obey you! Pity they took Saruch’s soul with them when they flitted forth.”