I think—I think—I think I will punch him now. Yes. I think that is what I will do. Professor Cosmatou would cry. I don’t know how he can hurt her so. And look: is she here? No. Why? Because he does not dare. He does not dare that defilement, that lie. Or perhaps he has in mind a rebirth of his own somehow, as a brave young Greek, and a girl to match. He will leave behind Cosmatos and amuse himself with Anthea the net-mender’s daughter, and she will see his wrinkled old prod as a sign and signifier of the mightiest male organ in all of Greece.