Chapai, who has not tasted defeats yet, by the force of
his natural keenness is feeling the wickedness of the chosen way.
He guesses that if any defect deserves punishment then Chapai himself,
and his division, and all people will pay dearly. Many long years will
they carve themselves (harakiri-like) because political science
had been appraised above love. For now Chapai is singing to dull his pain.
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