pull, pull of the half-caste’s arm on the stirrup holding him back. There was a groan—it sounded like ‘Mother of God’, and he let the mule slacken its pace. He prayed silently, ‘God forgive me.’ Christ had died for this man too: how could he pretend with his pride and lust and cowardice to be any more worthy of that death than the half-caste? This man intended to betray him for money which he needed, and he had betrayed God for what? Not even for real lust. He said, ‘Are you sick?’ and there was no reply. He dismounted and said, ‘Get up. I’ll walk for a while.’
