" He sat down and breathed heavily.
"Go on! Go on!"
"Shall I relate the history upon the fan?" And without waiting for an
answer he began at the left of the fan and slowly read to the right:--
I who write this am called Moa the Bonze. What I write of I
witnessed in a walled city of Judea. I travelled there attracted by
the report of miraculous happenings brought about by the magic art
of a youthful barbarian called Ieshua. The day I arrived in the
city they had sentenced the wise man to death by crucifixion. I was
disappointed. I had come many moons and many leagues from the
Yellow Kingdom to see something rare. I was too late. The magician,
whom his disciples called a god, had been executed. I tarried a few
days in the city. After many questions put to beggars and outcasts,
I heard that a certain woman of rank had a portrait of Ieshua. I
called and without hesitation asked her to show me this picture.
She was an exalted soul. She wept bitter tears as she drew from a
secret cabinet a scarf upon which was imprinted a bloody image.
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