Butterfly and Black arrived in the middle of the night; they spread the pictures on the floor before me, and asked me to tell them who’d made which illustration. It reminded me of the game “Whose Turban” we used to play when we were children: You’d draw the various headdresses of a hoja, a cavalryman, a judge, aioner, a head treasurer aary and try to match them with the corresponding names written on other facedows.
I told them I’d made the dog myself. We’d told its story to the storyteller. I said that geterfly, who held a dagger to my throat, must’ve drawh, over which the light of the lamp wavered pleasantly. I remembered that Olive had rendered Satan with great enthusiasm, whose story uirely by the dearly departed storyteller. I’d started the tree whose leaves were drawn by all of us who came to the coffeehouse that night. We came up with the story as well. So it was with Red, too: Some red ink had splattered onto a page and the stingy storyt……（内容加载失败！）
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