“You are strong. O how strong you are, you man who have won for yourself a power in the world that hates you. Your people have been beaten bloody: always, always. Beaten bloody by their God ... beaten bloody by the world to which they gave their God. They are a bent dark people. Yet you have won for yourself a body fair to see. Never shall I forget your lovely body. Yet I do not love you. I love a man who had all and who cast it away: who was fair as you were never and who has dirtied himself.” “He only deserves your love.” “Why that?” “ ...if you care for him.” He took her hand again. “Since you care to care for him....” “Good-by,” he said. She said: “The word Love is never in your mouth.” “Good-by,” he said. She said: “I will do what you want.... I would do always what you want. I do not love you: but I bow to you. I kiss your feet. You are holy.... Why are you holy?” “I have moved you only as a wind that passes.” “You are putting me aside,” she said. “No. I touch your branches. I spread them. I take seed of you with me to the fallow meadows. I do not stir your roots.” “They feel sunshine for you have spread me open.” “I do not stir your roots--because I have respect for the word Love.” “Good-bye, then, Leon. I shall find out what this great truth is ... this truth I know, the first truth I have ever known ... that you are holy.” “Good-by,” he said. Then he went. * * * * * Mrs. Luve looked through the golden flame of an old table, of two candles, burning within the blackness of her room. There ... not of the mellow flame, not of the dark ... a young man speaking of small matters. Where the flame touched him he glowed; where the night touched him his body withdrew harsh into shadow. What is this encaverned boy, talking of small matters? --He is plump: he is a boy: he has no strength of his own. He is very strong and he is very old. Blond hair curls from bland brow. They are Jews ... _he_ was straight like steel, hard, sure. So gentle. Sureness alone is gentle in a fumbling world.... _Are you hard also?_”