appear before the King showing his hands, and, dwarf, since you have
no sleeves, thrust yours into your robe."

"What am I to do with my feet?" he answered in a thick, guttural
voice. "Will it offend the King of kings to see my feet, most noble
eunuch?"

"Certainly, certainly," answered Houman, "since they are ugly enough
to offend even me. Hide them as much as possible. Now we are near,
down on your faces and crawl forward slowly on your knees and elbows,
as I do. Down, I say!"

So down I went, though with anger in my heart, for be it remembered
that I, the modern Allan Quatermain, knew every thought and feeling
that passed through the mind of my prototype.

It was as though I were a spectator at a play, with this difference. I
could read the motives and reflections of this former /ego/ as well as
observe his actions. Also I could rejoice when he rejoiced, weep when
he wept and generally feel all that he felt, though at the same time I
retained the power of studying him from my own modern standpoint and
with my own existing intelligence. Being two we still were one, or
being one we still were two, whichever way you like to put it. Lastly
I lacked these powers with reference to the other actors in the piece.
Of these I knew just as much, or as little as my former self knew,
that is if he ever really existed. There was nothing unnatural in my
faculties where they were concerned. I had no insight into their souls
any more than I have into those of the people about me to-day. Now I
hope that I have made clear my somewhat uncommon position with
reference to these pages from the Book of the Past.