“You wouldn’t forget the South?” A picture bright like a knife ... this her house, the garden, Edith in her blue bassinette ... cut her and filled the room. --Get away! get away! “Now--first, Virginia--“ “Yes.”--Get away! O my baby! O Harry! How could you? Couldn’t you understand? Yet? Where are you Edith?... “This was at Flora’s table.”--Get away! She talked. Her words were dim, she could not see her words. She went on talking ... strong hands gripped her arms near her shoulders, turned her. A long heavy face--red and kind--thrust bewilderment upon her eyes that could not see her words. “Mrs. Luve!” --Your face is different: heavier, solider ... could it hurt so? “Mrs. Luve!” --Your hair is not silky. Silk cuts. Silk cuts. “Mrs. Luve! what is the matter?” He placed her in a chair. The window flew open. Steel cool night flooded in. The room righted. “Excuse me, Mr. Johns.... I--I reckon I--I was faint a bit. Let’s go on.” “There’s no hurry.” --He’s looking at me. And I can’t see my words. I am talking. I must talk. Do my words stand between me and him? O they must.... Silk only cuts.... She stopped. Her heart was weary.--If you must see, you big good man, then see. I can fend no more. I let go. She covered her face one moment with her hands. No tears. Her head lifted, eyes blazing. “Well,” she said, “have you seen enough? Have you had enough! Coward!” A heavy hand lay gently upon hers. Gentle hand outstretched from a long arm.... O how long! and there, vastly beyond as in a dream, this man: solid red good. “Quiet,” his hand spoke to her. The other hand. “Quiet.” Fanny jumped up. She saw him there, and that he was frightened. --He is frightened by me, he is frightened about me! He cares because he sees me in pain. He is worried about me. Impossible, impossible. Right this! Fanny’s scream knifed through the grayness. Then she was clear. She stood there, seeing him in the dark room, clear. He saw her clarity: his brow clouded. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought you were sick: you seemed hysterical, Mrs. Luve. I meant only to quiet you.” “Your hand you mean? It was good. Thank you for your hand, sir. It took one scream from me. Thank you.” She breathed very fast. She was headclear now, as if in a storm which had passed all fibre, all flesh had been stripped from her taut nerves. She was a framework of nerves. “Thank you,” she said again. “One less scream. Do you know what that means? One less scream!” He came to her and clasped her arm. “Scream again.” She looked at him full. “Wait,” she panted. He held her. She leaned back feeling his hands strained by her weight to eat into her arms. “Wait!” There was a liquid fullness in her voice. “Perhaps I can laugh instead. Laugh--“ “No. Don’t laugh, I tell you. Don’t lie, for God’s sake. Scream.” There was a silence. The silence was all fresh and new like a dawn.