They stood opposite to each other, hands still clinging. And again that strange tremor thrilled Sabina. “Look here,” he said roughly, “are you a child, or are you playing at being one?” “I—I—” Laughter ceased. She looked up at him once, then down at the floor, and began breathing like a frightened little animal. He pulled her closer still and kissed her mouth. “Na, what are you doing?” she whispered. He let go her hands, he placed his on her breasts, and the room seemed to swim round Sabina. Suddenly, from the room above, a frightful, tearing shriek. She wrenched herself away, tightened herself, drew herself up. “Who did that—who made that noise?” In the silence the thin wailing of a baby. “Achk!” shrieked Sabina, rushing from the room. THE LUFT BAD I think it must be the umbrellas which make us look ridiculous. When I was admitted into the enclosure for the first time, and saw my fellow-bathers walking about very nearly “in their nakeds,” it struck me that the umbrellas gave a distinctly “Little Black Sambo” touch. Ridiculous dignity in holding over yourself a green cotton thing with a red parroquet handle when you are dressed in nothing larger than a handkerchief. There are no trees in the “Luft Bad.” It boasts a collection of plain, wooden cells, a bath shelter, two swings and two odd clubs—one, presumably the lost property of Hercules or the German army, and the other to be used with safety in the cradle. And there in all weathers we take the air—walking, or sitting in little companies talking over each other’s ailments and measurements and ills that flesh is heir to. A high wooden wall compasses us all about; above it the pine-trees look down a little superciliously, nudging each other in a way that is peculiarly trying to a _débutante_. Over the wall, on the right side, is the men’s section. We hear them chopping down trees and sawing through planks, dashing heavy weights to the ground, and singing part songs. Yes, they take it far more seriously. On the first day I was conscious of my legs, and went back into my cell three times to look at my watch, but when a woman with whom I had played chess for three weeks cut me dead, I took heart and joined a circle. We lay curled on the ground while a Hungarian lady of immense proportions told us what a beautiful tomb she had bought for her second husband. “A vault it is,” she said, “with nice black railings. And so large that I can go down there and walk about. Both their photographs are there, with two very handsome wreaths sent me by my first husband’s brother. There is an enlargement of a family group photograph, too, and an illuminated address presented to my first husband on his marriage. I am often there; it makes such a pleasant excursion for a fine Saturday afternoon.” She suddenly lay down flat on her back, took in six long breaths, and sat up again.