Chapter 403:

"If you refuse?"
"The dog is dead!"
"Are they useless?"
"Of course. But kindness is not treason. The reason that keeps me alive is treason. I failed. I revealed the secret. I must die. This is the law. If they let me live, the next person who fails will cite the precedent. In a century or so, a new compromise law will appear quietly. Li Huai’s secrets will completely disappear, and the world will use Li Huai’s knowledge to destroy itself. No, they use me to show mercy., And It's not just about throwing dead bodies to crocodiles."
I suggest: "If you can tell me your real name, I will tell them your death in Johns Hopkins, maybe they will write your record on some martyrs list."
I think this idea attracted him because his eyes lit up and became very soft. He was about to speak, but at that moment, the door opened again and things started to happen, which made all the thoughts of John Hopkins come to Lee's mind.
About a dozen women entered this time. They tied the Mahatma effortlessly, but they tied me like a Philistine, tied me, and threw a silk bag on my head with a blindfold. If I do not bite the bag when I pull it over my shoulder, the bag will be very effective. It does not take long to bite a hole, nor does it take too much time to move my head until there is a hole in front of my right eye, after which I can clearly see where they are guiding me.
In most countries, women are less generous in power than men. As long as I walk fast enough to adapt to them, men will be content to let me follow them or move forward in front of them, but those shrews hardly regard me as a person. Maybe they think that unless they keep beating, pushing, pushing, and kicking me in those corridors and gilded stairs, I might forget who has the upper hand temporarily. But I don’t think so. I think this is just poison-when the position is reversed, the loser will impose semi-voluntary revenge on the opponent. When the women of India finally break the regime and openly participate in politics, for this reason, Li Huai will see more cruelty and barbarism than the terrorist activities of France or Russia.
When they finally dragged me down the hallway, I was scarred, and actually bleeds in more than a dozen places, and then crowded me in a narrow front hall. The two Haridas who were the most difficult to deal with me were the most bad. I gave them what is called "squeezing" in elephant horses, and they squeeze left and right against the protruding wall. Where are they screaming, I heard the reproaching voice of the mahatma behind me:
"Violence is the stupidity of beasts. Patience and strength are one of them!"
But they did not put pins on his ribs and thighs to humiliate and discourage him. He was held by either hand and groaned gently in a way similar to the way members of the Dorcas Guild treated the bishop. He felt that magnanimity was easy. I managed to step on my foot with one foot and squeeze the other two women because they pushed me through a door into a spacious audience hall, and the suppressed screams were music in my ears. I don’t understand why women who use pins on prisoners are more immune to violence than men.
When they closed the door, they peeled the silk bag from my head, hugged me with their arms, and dragged me to the middle of a concert hall at least the size of Carnegie Hall in New York. The other two Or three thousand times luxury.
I stood on a six-foot-wide carpet, facing the throne, which was facing the door through which I entered. The throne is under the tree canopy, forming the center of a horseshoe-shaped gold-plated chair ring, and on each chair sits a woman with a heavy veil. Apart from wearing wonderful rainbow-colored clothes and jewels so heavy that they shone like morning dew, there is no other identity except a woman. She is Yasminie. She sat on the throne in the center, showed her face, had no jewelry, and was content with everyone without any human help.
She sits under a hard white light, shooting from behind the grid on the wall, which exaggerates a little bit of flaws in appearance or manner. She looks like the queen in a fairy tale book, just like the queen that your aunt who showed you the story in the nursery once remembered, and the Sunday tonic in the illustration has not disillusioned how the queen wears a hat.
She is Titania and is closely related to the huntress Diana. She is definitely Athena, the goddess of wisdom. She is dressed in flowing cream, showing her outline and wearing sandals on her bare feet. Not a diamond. There are no gems. Her hair was tied in a Greek style and shone like golden.
Of course, she seems to be born to preside over meetings. Maybe she is the only one who relaxes, because other people are shifting restlessly behind the veil, with that vague, uncertain air, inexperience-even though one woman looks bigger than the others and wears Sitting on a chair near the throne with black instead of colored embroidered heads looks even more fascinating. There are more than one hundred women there.
Faced with my predicament, the change of face is instant. I have no doubt that it was her fault that I was abused during the ascent, because these women saw me being restrained by her orders and mocked by her a few hours ago. But now, she felt that she was indignant at the treatment I had suffered. When she stood up and rushed towards my captive, she even made the princess in the veil tremble, giving every word a whip-like weight.
"Does my guest suffer in my house?"
One of the women complained about me. I stepped on her foot and pressed her against the door frame.
"He will kill you!" she retorted. "Her dog! Take her away! I will punish her in the future! Who put the pin on him? Talk, otherwise I will punish all of you!"
No one owns it, but three or four of them betrayed the others because they couldn’t get close enough to cause any harm to me, so she ordered everyone except the four to get out of the room and waited for punishment at her convenience . Then, she apologized to me with such noble demeanor and obvious sincerity that I wanted to know who she suspected overheard her. I want to know, my eyes are wandering, and I noticed that the woman is covered by black. She is an old-looking woman who would rather squat in her beautiful shawl, as if she was troubled by rheumatism, her hands and feet were invisible, all hidden in the folds of the long saree.
Since Mahatma and I have been standing still, there was passion in an instant. In fact, Mahatma was not standing. He is already squatting on the floor next to me. The woman brought a stool to Li Bai, but Mahatma refused him. I thought I might not be as conspicuous as sitting on a stool when I was sitting up. There, Yasmini started bathing women because he didn't provide me with better clothes. Considering the long swimming, dusty elephant rides and two fights with women, they were almost torn to pieces during this period, and the clothes were not bad!
So they brought me a silk robe full of portraits of Indian gods. I sat there feeling like a Roman, the gorgeous robe wrapped around me. I may always have a Roman ultimatum to the Romans, assuming that those belligerent women existed in Roman times.
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