“Oh, it’s true enough.” She moved close and I caught the scent of her hair and skin. “But there’s another side. The haven is neither wealthy nor endowed. We have to earn our living. The fellows draw no stipend; they have food, clothes, shelter, whatever books and materials they need—no unessentials. We often have to leave our own individual work to do manual labor to bring in food or money for all.” “Ive read of such communities,” I said enthusiastically. “I thought they’d all disappeared fifty or sixty years ago.” “Have you and did you?” she asked contemptuously. “Youll be surprised to learn that Haggershaven is neither Owenite nor Fourierist. We are not fanatics nor saviors. We don’t live in phalansteries, practice group marriage or vegetarianism. Our organization is expedient, subject to revision, not doctrinaire. Contribution to the common stock is voluntary and we are not concerned with each other’s private lives.” “I beg your pardon, Miss Haggerwells. I didnt mean to annoy you.” “It’s all right. Perhaps I’m touchy; all my life Ive seen the squinty suspiciousness of the farmers all around, sure we were up to something immoral, or at least illegal. Youve no idea what a prickly armor you build around yourself when you know that every yokel is cackling, ‘There goes one of them; I bet they ...’ whatever unconventional practice their imaginations can conceive at the moment. And the parallel distrust of the respectable schools. Detachedly, the haven may indeed be a refuge for misfits, but is it necessarily wrong not to fit into the civilization around us?” “I’m prejudiced. I certainly havent fitted in myself.” She didnt answer and I felt I had gone too far in daring an impulsive identification. Awkwardness made me blurt out further, “Do you ... do you think there’s any chance Haggershaven would accept me?” Whatever reserve I’d tried to maintain deserted me; my voice expressed only childish longing. “I couldnt say,” she answered primly. “Acceptance or rejection depends entirely on the vote of the whole fellowship. All I’m here to offer is train fare. Neither you nor the haven is bound.” “I’m perfectly willing to be bound,” I said fervently. “You may not be so rash after a few weeks.” I was about to reply when Little Aggie—so called to distinguish her from Fat Aggie who was in much the same trade, but more successful—came in. Little Aggie supplemented her nocturnal earnings around Astor Place by begging in the same neighborhood during the day. “Sorry, Aggie,” I said; “Mr Tyss didnt leave anything for you.” “Maybe the lady would help a poor working girl down on her luck,” she suggested, coming close. “My, that’s a pretty outfit you have. Looks like real silk, too.” Barbara Haggerwells drew away with anger and loathing on her face. “No,” she refused sharply. “No, nothing!” She turned to me. “I must be going. I’ll leave you to entertain your friend.” “Oh, I’ll go,” said Little Aggie cheerfully, “no need to get in an uproar. Bye-bye.”