“Yes, I hated him that night,” Buntaro continued in the same calm voice, “and wanted him dead—and you and Fujiko-san. My bow whispered to me, like it does sometimes, asking for a killing. And when, the next dawn, I saw him coming down the hill with those cowardly little pistols in his hands, my arrows begged to drink his blood. But I put his killing off and humbled myself, hating my bad manners more than him,
