All they would not let her. They smiled on her and carefully patterned their talk. They had eyes forever wiping against her thoughts. They must have hated her, had she been gay and forgetful of her loss. They did not want to hate her. They preserved her low and broken where they did not need to hate her. “Dear poor Fanny--so brave!” Their words and their ways announced: “We try to be gay with you, we try to make you gay.” They would not let her be gay. They hoisted their talk uphill against the evident pull of their sole interest in her, of their solemn compassion for her. They would not let her forget. “We are being gay, we are trying to cheer you up. We are talking with you of indifferent matters.” So.... Fanny waited ... here too. In these bright congestions of men and women was there not surely somewhere a color that went with her own, a tone that could make her vibrate? She waited in stiff rigor, not knowing she waited.... Gowns and shoes ... words put on like gowns and shoes over different flesh. She smelt at times under satin and starch warm flesh that needed air. She sat and let herself be talked to, be sympathized with, be gloated over.--If only you’d shout you are glad! Healthy that, naked.... O no. She was stiff as in death. A tall man, dark....--Newcomer, strange ... moved up to her and spoke. Words not spawned or swerved by her own story: words she needed not to hear since they were fending away a world that would not let her be gay. In a new separateness Fanny felt herself.... Felt herself laughing. Found her feet, after his quiet resolute own, pattering out to a seclusive alcove. She saw him.--I don’t size you up. I don’t care! You release my feet and my laughter. You are big strong ... black ... what are you? * * * * * He came to her home. Her ears did not count, yet her ears did for they had given her a label to stick on him so he could pass through her door.... Leon Dannenberg--attorney from Washington--Government lawyer--on short business here. He passed through. More than her eyes saw that he was very strong with hands full of ease. She leaned back in her rocker: her toes jutted forward: they twinkled against his black strength. They chatted, she had no ears, she had voice. She was gay. When he left her: “You are unhappy, Mrs. Luve,” he said. “I think you are the unhappiest woman I have known. You must be strong, then ... too.” She took his hand and liked how her hand was lost in his hand that was full of ease. “You let me be gay.” “I’m coming whenever this Case ... and these Conferences ... let me.” * * * * * “I have respect for you,” he said. He took her in his arms and kissed her.... He said: “We are strangers ... we are strangers who respect each other.” “Help me,” he said. “Help you?”