command, without consciousness of free will or individual thought. It
was enough that for one moment his anger should cease to give life to
his resistance; it was sufficient that Unorna should touch him thus,
and speak softly, his eyelids quivered and his look became fixed, his
strength was absorbed in hers and incapable of acting except under her
direction. So long as she might please the spell would endure.

"Sit beside me now, and let us talk," she said.

Like a man in a dream, he rose and sat down near her.

Unorna laughed, and there was something in the tone that was not good to
hear. A moment earlier it would have wounded Israel Kafka to the quick
and brought the hot, angry blood to his face. Now he laughed with her,
vacantly, as though not knowing the cause of his mirth.

"You are only my slave, after all," said Unorna scornfully.

"I am only your slave, after all," he repeated.

"I could touch you with my hand and you would hate me, and forget that
you ever loved me."

This time the man was silent. There was a contraction of pain in his
face, as though a violent mental struggle were going on within him.
Unorna tapped the pavement impatiently with her foot and bent her brows.

"You would hate me and forget that you ever loved me," she repeated,
dwelling on each word as though to impress it on his consciousness. "Say
it. I order you."