She was afraid of thinking ... afraid of how clear she saw. She took off her clothes, she turned out the light. She lifted wide the little window that lifted her eyes above a jagged finger of roof to the sky. Lavendar-blue it was, washed in pale streakings of eternal fire. She lay stretched-out in her bed: warm, with eyes so wide she could feel the night pour in to them.... Manifold Night! Night of the straining of flame through space, Night of the march of stone masks above the softness of men. Night---- A question stood sharp up:--“Why did I want to turn round, walking downtown? Why did I not turn round? What was the thought always there as I walked--as of a face and a will watching----“ Fanny smiled. “You wish she had followed you. She didn’t! Never fear. She is not that sort ... strong unsentimental Clara.” Fanny saw Clara naked in a wide soft bed. Very sharp she saw her: the small clear breasts, the fluted strain of the thighs, the tender cushion of her belly. A man-form, vague, bore down upon her belly. Fanny could see no more. She feared to sense that if she dared see more she might see Johns! She saw a desecration as if the talons and beak of a great bird tore at the thighs of Clara ... strips of the flesh of herself. She could not bear it. Her palms clutched over her eyes and ears. She turned writhing upon her stomach. She was still. --Poor Harry!... “No,” she said aloud. “You wanted her to follow and she did not. She respects you too much. Can’t you respect yourself? What you said to Clara was true ... the long and terrible Way that you must go. Cannot you say to yourself what you said to Clara?” Once more Fanny lay in her bed straight-stretched and her eyes open: once more the light poured in upon her eyes. Her head was light. It lifted her like a balloon above the City. She was afloat above the brittle stone. The world was black and was suffused by fires. The light was the Black breathing. “It is true,” said her mouth. “I am falling upward. I have nothing to do with this. I am falling upward.” Her words lifted upon the Night that poured in her eyes. She saw her words. She saw herself. She drank her words and herself. --I hope it is not Johns who is keeping Clara. No. It is not he. Clara would not ... even if he would ... after what was. Why do I care? I am not done with Clara!... But I did right. I must say No and No ... endlessly No to all the world’s questions. That is saying Yes--to what? How strange it is, this Being in me that flies. I am the wings of myself. She was very light. She was afloat in an impenetrable Dark which yet she pierced for she was suffusion of light. She lay there, eyes and mouth wide open, limp palms at her sides, and heard the cadence of her breath. --I am not unhappy, she thought. Then her eyes closed....