 The humans entertained selected friends who came at the ends of weeks to admire the splendor of Omar Ben's tale, to bow down to the humans' money, and to hate them fiercely because they had it. The master did not toil. He lived for certain hours of the day in Wall Street where he sank his patrician fingers into the throats of lesser men, squeezed them dry, then washed his hands in a violet water, and built a church. True, he did not attend this church himself, but he built it.