world another man like Segontius Almo. But that Thracian is a
duplicate of him, as like him as if he were his twin brother."

"More like him than a twin brother," Brinnaria replied, her
voice muffled and choked. "I've been watching him ever since
he came in. I recognized him in the procession this morning.
That is Almo."

"Almo!" breathed Manlia, in a horrified whisper.

"Yes, Almo!" hissed Brinnaria.

"What shall we do?" quavered Manlia.

"Do?" snorted Brinnaria, "do nothing."

"But we can pray," Manlia panted. "We can pray. Surely you
are praying, Brinnaria?"

"I am praying," came the answer, in a viperish whisper. "I'm
praying he may be killed."

"Killed!" Manlia gasped.

"Yes, killed," repeated Brinnaria, viciously. "Killing is what he
deserves, mere killing is too good for him. If he wanted to commit
suicide why couldn't he do it decently at once and privately
without all this elaborate machinery of selling himself as a slave,
and lying about his intentions and disgracing himself by becoming
a prize-fighter and exposing himself to getting killed in public?