“Why,” said I, “do you need prayers?”
He said it was because his fate was upon him.
I think he spoke the truth. He was standing erect and with dignity, his eyes were not disturbed, and he repeatedly refused the alms of passers-by.
“No one” said I, “should yield to these moods.”
He answered nothing, but looked pensive like a man gazing at a landscape and remembering his life.
But it was now the hour when the ship was to be sailing again, and I could not linger, though I wished very much to talk more with him. I begged him to name a shrine where a gift might be of especial value to him. He said that he was attached to no one shrine more than to any other, and then I went away regretfully, remembering how earnestly he had asked for prayers.
This was in Palma of Majorca not two years ago
