He wafts his hat & the lunar dome of his skull passes palely under the lamps & he swings about & takes possession of one of the fiddles & he pirouettes & makes a pass, two passes, dancing & fiddling at once. His feet are light and nimble. He never sleeps. He says that he will never die. He dances in light & in shadow & he is a great favorite. He never sleeps, The Judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die.

He is a man of strange hulking appearance, towering 7' tall, grinning wide, moving with an unerring dancer's grace for his size. Skin pure white from albinism, eyes glitter mirthfully, speaking in a booming merry voice, The Judge proclaims to you

"That man who sets himself the task of singling out the thread of order from the tapestry will by the decision alone have taken charge of the world & it is only by such taking charge that he will effect a way to dictate the terms of his own fate."