At ego, ut eram, etiam nunc humi proiectus, inanimis, nudus et frigidus et lotio perlitus, quasi recens utero matris editus, immo vero semimortuus, verum etiam ipse mihi supervivens et postumus, vel certe destinatae iam cruci candidatus, Quid inquam me fiet, ubi iste iugulatus mane paruerit? Cui videbor veri similia dicere perferens vera? Proclamares saltem suppetiatum, si resistere vir tantus mulieri nequibas.
But I stayed where I was, sprawled on the ground, lifeless, naked and cold, and covered with urine, as if I had just come out of my mothers womb. No, it was more like being half-dead but still my own survivor, a posthumous child, or at least a sure candidate for the cross. What will become of me, I said, when he is discovered in the morning with his throat cut? Who will think my story is plausible when I tell the truth? You could at least have called out for help, if a big man like you could not withstand a woman by yourself.
final_alignments\Apuleius_Metamorphoses_Book1.json