--My soul is beautiful. My soul says to me: You are a dirty Jew!... What is the use? One picks the smut from one’s nose, But one’s nose smells on, the smut comes back, What is the use of having a beautiful soul? No one tells Statt that he is a dirty Dutchman. --You, little girl, with the apple breasts and the hips hard and sweet like an apple, You are my soul and you are far away. You should be my daughter. Then I should not have to hold you naked.... She is my daughter! O if I could say that, say: Father! Not:--a whore and a dirty Jew that keeps her. TESSIE:---- Music is a dancing wall Between me and the mad man world. Wall danced away. Stiff man world holds me and pierces me. You, Abe, at least have hands soft-speaking. --Fanny Luve ... what is the name of your kid? SUSAN:---- I ask myself no question. O horror, O torrent of horror If I asked a question. --The mountainside Is steep, is snow. I mount, I mount. I am erect: my shoulders and my feet Freeze sharp. --O the horror, O the torrent, O the flood Down-pouring ... If I asked a question. MARK:---- Well, what difference does it make? At least half my life is good. I’m a good Judge, I’m a good husband and father. Who in New York can say as much for himself? ... They looked on Fanny naturally, without color of her ... seeing her within the way of their looking on themselves: so that they came not to ask who she was who was there. * * * * * “Well, all right then ... if you ask me: you’re right. Mangel gets my goat. I can’t go him. He’s nothin’ but a damn gambler. Why does he put on airs?” “I never saw him put on airs,” said Fanny. They stood. Her face, upturned to James Statt’s gray one, glowed in a strange way. “He’s so humble----“ “Is that putting on airs, Jim?” Statt stirred in discomfort. “You’re right,” she went on. “It’s the worst sort of putting on airs.” “There, you see? The damn little weasel! I’ll stand none of his nonsense!” “He don’t give you any, Jim.” “Well, you know what I mean.” “I know that you hate him because he’s just himself.” “Jew!” “He’s cringing and a coward. But even so, he makes us feel small, don’t he, Jim?” “Us small? Are you crazy? Us small?” “Surely. Even when he is ever so mean and humble, he is asserting to our souls ... to all in us that feels and understands ... that he is one of those high up ... who have made us feel and understand.” “Fanny, you’re crazy. I’ll kill the little beggar!” “You won’t dispose of him that way, you silly boy. It’s not _he_....”