There is one thing that sticks in my throat above all, Clotho, and on account of it I longed to slip back again to the light of day, if only for a moment.

What is that? It must be something tremendous.

As soon as Cario, my valet, saw that I was dead, toward evening he came into the room where I lay, having nothing to do, for nobody was doing anything, not even guarding me, and brought in my mistress Glycerium; they had been on good terms a long time, Isuppose. Shutting the door, he began to make free with her as though nobody was in the room, and then, when he had enough of it, he gazed at me and said: “You wretched little shrimp, you often gave me beatings when I was not at fault.” With that he pulled my hair and hit me in the face, and finally, after clearing his throat raucously and spitting on me, went away saying: “Off with you to the place of the wicked!” I was aflame with rage, but could not do a thing to him, for I was already stiff and cold. And as for the wretched wench, when she heard people approaching she smeared her eyes with spittle as if she had been crying over me and went away weeping and calling my name. If I should catch them—