... Fanny stopped on the curb to let a wagon pass. Huge horses drew it. They were black with white-stroked withers, hair gathered thick above their pounding hoofs. A thin man perched above them; behind him, the iron cart heaped high with tawney dirt. He was imprisoned, this pallid man, between the soil and the horses. His hands held reins. From his white eyes two little Streams of red rose, curled, flecked at the horses’ steaming flanks, receded, thrust in the dirt behind, moved circling fitful about the soil and the horses. The roll of the wheels, the clank of the great hoofs, the cart’s metallic strain were a tissue of hostile voices hunting the still red search that streamed from his white eyes. * * * * * --There are no ones and one. You get in my way! You don’t exist!... She saw how this world was a manifold of veins, carrying blood, building flesh of life and house. --I flow. I too am livid, flowing through You. She saw that the walls of the streets were once more in their places. She saw that men’s and women’s heads were once more shut: ... the beating angry solitary worlds, black, red, grey ... spherical, streamer-like ... were sealed once more in skulls of men and women. Fanny’s new place of work was in the shop of a fur-dresser. She sat at a long table. She looked above her plying hands at the stooped forms of women across from her: looking above their plying hands at her. Between their shoulders, the window ... gold letters of the Sign standing upon it. A. R A C H M A N N _FURS_ They were in a room like a foul mouth that spoke to the world gold words, dropped this amenity upon the sweep of Elevated structure just abreast the window. Trains passed. Banners of cluttered stationary lives made gay in passing ... sweep of black particles in the gay flourish of passing. _Passing!_ As Fanny worked, the smooth flat tracks of the Elevated trains stood like a way beyond the world. One entered heavy and thick into the train ... one was swept gay! Fanny worked. Skins ... dead dusty skins to be ripped and sponged and fitted into _shapes_. Shapes that were insult to the skins. Her hands raped life. In the filth and shadow of the shop, she felt the mutter of creatures defiled and effaced into dead forms by hands that were not even bloody. --Furry skins live. Boney hands defile you. I am a woman and you are under me! She felt that they of the shop were very strong, were great ... marring the wistful lives of creatures with warm furs: running thread and needle through them, pressing cloth and water against them. She felt that she dwindled each moment of this work which made her so superior and strong against live creatures. She defiled herself ... she worked to live a desecration upon life.