Celadus Thraex suspirium puellarum, he writes on the board, his body still as his arm weaves along. We watch attentively as the bit of white chalk glides so lightly and swiftly, more so than the original paint and brush that would have been used on some private citizen's blank wall. Graffiti is an old, ancient phenomenon.

Celadus Thraex, Celadus the Thracian gladiator ... suspirium, the sigh ... puellarum, of the girls. The girls' sigh, their itch, their heartthrob; their sigh, the one who causes their bosoms to empty of breath, and fill with longing.

He imitates such an exhalation of passion, and too many of us only just manage to contain our own.