Often I see coming across the desert a long line of light. My soul turns toward it and shrinks away from it as it does from all the lights. Some day, perhaps, all the lights will roll into one terrible white effervescence and rush over my soul and kill it. But this light does not bring so much of pain, for it is soft and silvery, and always with it is the Soul of Anemone. March 8. There are several things in the world for which I, of womankind and nineteen years, have conceived a forcible repugnance--or rather, the feeling was born in me; I did not have to conceive it. Often my mind chants a fervent litany of its own that runs somewhat like this: From women and men who dispense odors of musk; from little boys with long curls; from the kind of people who call a woman’s figure her “shape”: Kind Devil, deliver me. From all sweet girls; from “gentlemen”; from feminine men: Kind Devil, deliver me. From black under-clothing--and any color but white; from hips that wobble as one walks; from persons with fishy eyes; from the books of Archibald C. Gunter and Albert Ross: Kind Devil, deliver me. From the soft persistent, maddening glances of water-cart drivers: Kind Devil, deliver me. From lisle-thread stockings; from round, tight garters; from brilliant brass belts: Kind Devil, deliver me. From insipid sweet wine; from men who wear moustaches; from the sort of people that call legs “limbs”; from bedraggled white petticoats: Kind Devil, deliver me. From unripe bananas; from bathless people; from a waist-line that slopes up in the front: Kind Devil, deliver me. From an ordinary man; from a bad stomach, bad eyes, and bad feet: Kind Devil, deliver me. From red note-paper; from a rhinestone-studded comb in my hair; from weddings: Kind Devil, deliver me. From cod-fish balls; from fried egg plant, fried beef-steak, fried pork-chops, and fried French toast: Kind Devil, deliver me. From wax flowers off a wedding-cake, under glass; from thin-soled shoes; from tape-worms; from photographs perched up all over my house: Kind Devil, deliver me. From soft old bachelors and soft old widowers; from any masculine thing that wears a pale blue necktie; from agonizing elocutionists who recite “Curfew Shall Not Ring To-Night,” and “The Lips That Touch Liquor Shall Never Touch Mine”; from a Salvation Army singing hymns in slang: Kind Devil, deliver me. From people who persist in calling my good body “mere vile clay”; from idiots who appear to know all about me and enjoin me not to bathe my eyes in hot water since it hurts their own; from fools who tell me what I “want” to do: Kind Devil, deliver me. From a nice young man; from tin spoons; from popular songs: Kind Devil, deliver me.