“How can I live on Church property,” Fanny thought aloud. “Why!... Mrs. Luve!” Mrs. Deemis doubted her ears. “What’d ye say? Beg pardon?” “They’re rotten landlords?” “Well now ... of course.... I dont say they’re no _worse_....” “The Church takes the sun from my window, Mrs. Deemis. I love the sun.” “Why you aint never there? You work. What do ye need the sun for?... Dont blame the Church for that, my dear. You must be fair. If ’twasnt the Church wouldn’t it be one of these here ... now ... factories or office-buildings?” “---- taking the sun,” murmured Fanny and saw the once more ploughing arms of the old lady. “You aint thinkin’ of leaving, Mrs. Luve? Cause ... that’s a fine room ... kin rent----“ “Why no.” Fanny got up. “No, I shant move. I love my room. But if you could be so obliging as to remove that Church....” She laughed with her eyes gleaming differently from laughter. Upstairs she lowered the shades. She undressed. Naked, she saw in the glass that she still wore her hat. Her brow ached. She let fall her hair, letting her cold hands run through its electric dusk. Ungowned in her sheet she lay through the thick night with hands clasping her arms beneath her breasts. She lay dreamless, moving very fast. When she awoke it was late and she knew she had gone far. There were red furrows deep in the flesh of her arms. The night following ... sudden she emerged from the hot fog that held her. She is in the Church. Naked she stands before a stately mirror whose gold-tooled pediment crowned the blaze of her black hair and eyes. She struck her breasts with a firm fist. “You are cast out, you are vomited by Love.” She stands there burning in cold shame. Her mouth is open, and from it, like a white water, runs a moan. “What does it mean? Christ, what does it mean? Why was I hurt so? Why was I so given a high thought, high dream? I have been hurt. O Christ how it hurts so to be hurt without a meaning. Why?” --_This is a Church!_ She knew that Christ was coming. He was a man whom she knew. She could not see him, standing there beyond her: but each nerve of her lay in the impact of his presence.--He sees me! It was right that he should look upon her naked and shamed.--It is good, it is good. He looks on me and that is good. He looks on me because my hurt is an unmeaning hurt.... Her half-opened eyes, her half-shut hands, her outstretched knees and her thighs touched the warm smoothness of her bedclothes.--I am so tired! It was good in bed. She slept.