“All that I want to do is to pray to my thoughts with appropriate words, and every night until two in the morning I pay for the granting of this wish.... But I think that I was born to be a nun.” “I think that I was born to be a monk, covering the walls of his cell with little images, all of them contorting his bright hatred for a world,” he said. “I think that something also kicked me into a mob of prattling marionettes, leaving me exposed to the shower of unintended blows. I have often looked behind me and vainly tried to see who this first enemy was, but I am afraid that he does not return until you die.” With their silence they continued the dialogue for a time. “Have you a man who takes your money and kicks you?” he asked. “No. Every now and then some dope peddler pays me a visit, but I have a gun and I know how to use it. I sent one of them to a hospital once. They call me Crazy Georgie May and they’re always afraid of something that they can’t understand.” “I have a proposition to make to you,” he said. “We’ll live together without touching each other and each of us will be the monk and nun that he should have been. I am a ghost who wants to return to life and you are a living person who wants to go back to the ghost that was kicked into an insincere ritual of flesh. We’ll erect a unique monastery of thought and emotion, and pay for it with the slavery of your hands or mine.... Will you live with me in this fashion?” “Yes, if only to see whether it can be done,” she answered instantly. They rose from the bench and walked away together--a noble rascal and an ascetic prostitute. _Typography and Printing by Printing Service Company, Chicago._ _Electrotyped by Simpson-Bevans Company, Chicago._ Transcriber’s Notes A number of typographical errors were corrected silently. Cover image is in the public domain. Table of contents was augmented with chapter references.