It was night and a single smoking lamp was lighted, a mere wick projecting out of a three-cornered vessel of copper which was full of oil and was hung from the vault with blackened wires.
Seven rabbis sat at the board, and at the head sat Lazarus.

Their crooked hands and claw-like nails moved uneasily and there was a lurid fire in their vulture's eyes.

They bent forward, speaking to each other in low tones, and from beneath their greasy caps their anointed side curls dangled and swung as they moved their heads.

But Levi the Short-handed was not among them.

Their muffled talk was interrupted from time to time by the sound of sharp, loud blows, as of a hammer striking upon nails, and as though a carpenter were at work not far from the room in which they sat.
"He has not repented," said Lazarus, from his place.