Fanny took a magazine and went into the corner of the room beside the curtains. She tried to read. She did not see the page. What did this mean? _He’ll turn good!_ Was that what Jews did when they were hurt too much! Was that when they saw God?...--Harry and I blinded by a blow that _you_ see God by? Fanny sat brooding over the blank page of her book ... brooding of the Bible, brooding over the words of Jesus Christ: hearing the sneers of Statt, the swift shrill scold of Tessie, the warm weary murmur of Clara. --O it is good I am here! Learning ... learning.... She saw no thing. She understood no thing. But she was at ease as an infant, also perhaps not knowing, who sucks and who swallows.--Why is Statt also a child? Abe Mangel was there. He bowed to the group near the door and came beside Fanny. She held out both her hands and smiled at him. “Sit down!” Old man with the heavy face of the Jew!--Your eyes are dark wells, your brow is dry and rumpled like an old bit of parchment. Your nose and your lips droop wearily, old man! “You are tired, Mr. Mangel.” “O it’s nothing. Tessie’ll cheer me up, a little....” “Mr. Mangel--may I ask you a question?” He looked at Fanny with compassion.--You are young too? you too ask questions?... “Why of course, Fanny. Go on.” “Why do I like you, Mr. Mangel?” “O--that! You’ll hav’ to answer that yourself. Such woman foolishness, liking _me_! how can a man explain?” “You are a bad man, aren’t you?” “Very bad. I ain’t no better than a _crook_. Only richer. My wife dresses better.” His eyes twinkled. “Well, I can’t help it. I like you.” He smiled at her with his weary slow-twinkling eyes. She saw his hands ... gnarled yet fat, ugly yet expressive. “And I like you, Fanny Luve. What’s the difference why you like me? Don’t ask no foolish questions about a good thing. Take it.” “But are you glad I like you?” “I should say so! That sort of foolishness ... that’s all that makes life liveable, I say! That sort of foolishness--you know what it is?--it’s Trut’.” “You think.” “O no. I am too tired to think. When I was young, I thought. I was clever. I was full of dreams. I thought--I thought ... instead of learning to make money. When it was too late, I had to stop thinking of anything except how to make money, because earlier I hadn’t thought of _that_ at all. It don’t pay to be a thinker. You end up by being a gambler.” “All thinkers----?” “I should imagine so,” said Mangel. He brooded. Stiffly he got up. “Look here! What sort of nonsense are you making me say? Fanny Luve, I’m a stupid old feller. I don’t know nothing. Thirty years ago I was a stupid young feller. I’m sure. I guess I never knew how to think.” She held up her face to him. “I don’t know how to think, either. I am stupid too.” Abe Mangel shook his head. “You’re funny. You make me feel we don’t know how to think ... and we don’t know how to be good.... We men and women.”