“Our Father which art in Heaven ... thy Kingdom ... give us this day our daily ... not into temptation ... for thine is the Kingdom ... halleluja, Blesst!... the glory for ever and ever ... seek and ye shall find ... seek seek and and ye ye ... unto you opened ... unto you, opened ... Blood of the Lamb, red blood, ... there is a quiet house, all white, where it is warm this bitter Winter night ... all warm a quiet house ... and arms holding me to a redness, passion, that is allowed. Allowed ... hallowed ... hallowed ... allowed. Christ smiles on it, his blood is red and holy.... Fanny’s red, I have seen her red blood. Since I have married her, holy ... red and holy ... knock and it shall be ... opened ... red warm, dear ... all white is the blood of the Christ....” The smokey man was speaking: “Miracle is not dead.” Harry Luve rolled around upon his face. The music was still. A new quiet, also warm, wrapped him about. He rolled and rolled in a warm water. “The quiet is ever’ where.” His eyes gleamed against a blackness suddenly calm and dun, a wall. He looked at a wall in a lighted room. He saw a man beside him clad in black. A hand touched his. Harry was thankful how that hand touched his. “I have seen,” he said, “ ... O I have seen--“ The hand clasped his. “What, brother, have you seen?” Harry wrenched away his hands, placed them like fenders before him. “Let me--let me--!” he stopped. He swayed caught: he flew caught in a chord that sped with the bright room through a roaring darkness. Roar! He was dizzy. He tried to cry. He saw his hands speeding before his eyes like two birds through cavernous space. He stopped from breath ... one two three four FIVE ... he counted his flying fingers. A tiny spring sang over his eyes, sang fraying ready to break. He wanted to cry ... five five!... a little woman flew before his hands like a white bird in the blackness. Naked. One red spot in her naked body where he had made red once ... Fanny!... warm ... allowed. _Hallowed allowed hallowed allowed._ The red spot was a painted house home ... could be about him.... Blessed are they that mourn ... blessed are they that mourn. Blessed are the poor in spirit ... comforted ... Kingdom of Heaven lead us not ... rejoice exceeding glad ... into temptation---- “--_Warm and sweet is the blood of the Lamb That washes us sinners white. Sinners sinners Black and quivering sinners we And the blood of the Lamb it warms us It washes us sinners white._” ... The hand of the man in black touched his again. Smokey ... flame. Warmness, red warmness, white from hallowedness. The tiny spring burst. His eyes burst out into myriad diamond stars. A sluice opened. He was all wet. His soul poured ... a pent torrent ... out: speechless whiteness. “Something--say something, Brother! What wrestles in you? What chokes you? What do you see?” “Christ!” gasped Harry Rowland Luve: then he slept.