Thousand: Three Hundred Sixty-Two

but perhaps he was telling truth. Liars can tell the truth. So, as I say, I protested that this poor woman was not the thief, it was I. I had seen her bony hand outstretched at the entrance to the bazaar, and, having nothing of my own to give, had taken from one who seemed to have plenty. Who am I to accuse another of lying? I was seized and a stout cord cinched over my hand, squeezing the bones together. I gasped. The swordsman unsheathed his blade and laid it naked upon my skin. They held the woman, too,