“Has my time finally come round, brother?” he asked the executioner, who stood by patiently, ax in hand. Because he was hooded and constrained by statute from speaking, the executioner did not reply, but their simultaneous presence at that very spot, standing opposite each other, separated only by the oversized chopping block at the appointed hour, spoke for him.
The prisoner made a low bow. The executioner took full advantage. Soon it was silent and they were both welcomed home.
The executioner’s mother, having lost half her sons, wept.