“When, God,” she said aloud, “do I begin to think?” * * * * * She stood halted by a building. She knew which building it was.---- He is inside! Of course perhaps he is inside no longer. It was a gray pile rising in numberless piddling columns to the white of the sky. It was cold. She looked at it. “I am not going in.” He was perfect in her. Why should she go in to take from him perfection? She was afraid for his perfection.--How can he be this holy man in this grave? The Government Building stood like an insolent lackey fending her off. It glared at her and was very insecure and stupid within its ruffles of marble. It strutted its turrets before her like a vain proud bird.--He is perfect. He is done. He is no more. He is buried here. She felt a great need to see him. She knew she must not. “I must seek you,” she whispered against the mounting marble, “differently.” She walked and knew that Leon Dannenberg who was in each of her steps, in each of her pangs, in each leap forward of her blood was forever beyond her eyes.--Here you are, holy man. Where am I? There you are. She walked away. A vast openness was upon her flank, it ached sweetly as if her blood poured through it. An open longing lay upon her flesh as if she walked away from him who had given her birth.--You are behind. Not so far behind as Edith. Nearer, holy man. Farther ahead. But as she walked the inept city, a scene came and it filled her. She gave herself her scene fully, voluptuously ... starving ... while the long buildings passed her in a squad of uniformed dull giants. He is up from a wide desk. He says no word, looking deep in her eyes. One instant doubt as to the full free independence of her coming. Doubt goes before the intelligence of her eyes. He took her hands, very lightly, released them. “I am going North. I am on my way North.” “How can I help you?” “You have helped me all you can.” “He came back ... you told him?” She nodded. “He did not understand?” “How could we expect he should understand? Would I? Do I?... if this all was not mine ...?” “It is good, Fanny Luve. Go ahead.” His face sudden is like a field under a sky of longing: a sun came down; his face glows in tender fear: it shadows to resolution. “You must go North. We can’t understand. I can see, you are going right.” “How can you see that, Leon?” “No day since I left have you been far from me. You come into my thinking, my dreaming, into my sudden flying visions. You measure yourself always with them, with the best of them, Fanny. You measure full with them.” “What you have said I could have said.” His eyes came very near. They filled with tears of her. He looked away. “But I am vague. O Leon, so blind!” “You are no longer afraid of being blind. You are ready.” “_Leon, what am I going to be?_” “We are no longer prophets ... save in our lives. Live, Fanny.” “Leon, I could fight.... I could win her, I could save her.”