shock to find that the stains of printers' ink could reach so far.
The Devotee went on: "Beni imagined that he could blow out the flame of my devotion at one breath! But this is no mere tiny flame: it is a burning fire. Why do they abuse you, my God?"
I said: "Because I deserved it. I suppose in my greed I was loitering about to steal people's hearts in secret."
The Devotee said: "Now you see for yourself how little their hearts are worth. They are full of poison, and this will cure you of your greed."
"When a man," I answered, "has greed in his heart, he is always on the verge of being beaten. The greed itself supplies his enemies with poison."
"Our merciful God," she replied, "beats us with His own hand, and drives away all the poison. He who endures God's beating to the end is saved."
II
That evening the Devotee told me the story of her life. The stars of evening rose and set behind the trees, as she went on to the end of her tale.
"My husband is very simple. Some people think
