All that remained, huddled there at the foot of the table, was a heap of bleeding flesh and shabby garments.
It was Giuliana who gave me the information.

With a courage that was almost stupendous she looked down into his face, then up into mine, which I doubt not was as livid.
"You have killed him," she whispered.

"He is dead." He was dead and I had killed him! My lips moved.
"He would have killed me," I answered in a strangled voice, and knew that what I said was a sort of lie to cloak the foulness of my deed.
Old Busio uttered a long, croaking wail, and went down on his knees beside the master he had served so long--the master who would never more need servant in this world.
It was upon the wings of that pitiful cry that the full understanding of the thing I had done was borne in upon my soul.

I bowed my head, and took my face in my hands.

I saw myself in that moment for what I was.