--Christ, you must loose your buried feet and your arms without hands! Christ, you must not be twisted like that tree! Christ, you must not be rooted like a tree! Walk the earth, brother. Fanny’s eyes shut once more. She saw the white neck of Susan Sennister: on its side the little birthmark like the print of a black foot ... clear because her neck was white. She heard her voice: the resonant low voice of one who speaks often with herself. She saw the black eyes of Tessie upon her: the full lips, redder than rouge, the crowded high-pressed brow, the child-hands.... Clara sat still.--She will go to sleep now. * * * * * Fire in Clara’s eyes. The desperate embrace together of her life and of her love for Fanny rose lucent in them. She said: “Well, if you want to meet my friends, you shall meet them. I’ll give a party to celebrate your being here, and your getting well--and the hope that you’ll stay on.” “That’ll be fun!” “Then there’ll be more than just me to do the hoping.” “You’re a dear.” Fanny saw a party of eighteen years ago. She met Harry there. They walked the verandah ... walked back and forth three dances. The espagnols are open. The music flutters through into the purple night like cherry-colored ribbons. “Let’s go on the lawn,” he said. “Let’s dance on the lawn.” “We can dance here.” “No. Let’s dance on the lawn.” “Then we won’t dance.” But at last she yielded. He clasped her waist. He sprang with her through the elastic night. The grass was moving crystal sea under their silent feet. Her breath bounded against his. “You see?” he panted. “You must always do as I say....” And even then, even then she sensed in his words what she willed, not he.--_Was it so later?_ His going down, the agony ... what _she_ willed? “O I’m so anxious to know whom all I’m going to meet.” Clara shook her head. “Such folk as you have never met.” “I hope so! I want to meet new sorts. I want to find a new world. I am sure it will be better. It’s yours, Dear.” “They’re all I have.” “Don’t you dare apologize! Don’t you dare spoil it. I feel as if I could be happy again. Whomever it’s with--I’ll be happy with them.” “They’re a strange lot,” Clara laughed. “Who?” “Well, there’s a Judge: there’s a Gambler: there’s an Officer of Police: there’s a queer guy who ought to be a poet----“ “O how exciting! Do the Policeman and the Gambler get on?” “They’re side-kicks----“ “Side-kicks?” “Partners.” “My! what a lot I’m going to learn,” she murmured. “That’s what brought Tessie and Susan together. Her man’s a police Leftenant. Tessie’s is Abraham Mangel----“ “And Clara, yours----“ “That’s a secret, Dear. You call him Mr. Mark.... O I can tell you. Tellin’ you a secret’s like burying it. Don’t you let on. He’s really a Judge, Dear. Right in New York! Think of that. He’s so good.... Shall I tell you his right name? Sure never to let on? Judge Mark Pfennig.”