The old bachelor had grown impatient. His bony hand now seemed to be scratching away, as though gripped by the same spasm that makes a man’s limbs twitch when close to death. He interrupted him, curtly. He said he knew how painful such a decision must be, but he wanted justice, not excuses, and the sooner the better. If someone else acted in his place before he could, the Hajji’s name would henceforth be smeared by the indelible stain of suspicion that he’d either hesitated or had refused outright. As for the rest, namely the feelings of the people involved, these were negligible and he had no desire to meddle. They had to find a compromise between the demands dictated by justice and the feelings, and surprising hesitations, of the injured party. Whatever collateral damage justice caused w
