Spring.
If Mamma Farley calls me to dinner, she said to herself, I shall be sick.
In the dark street a boy whistled. She heard girls laugh. Through the window a new-leafed tree over the opposite roof moved its black foliage against the bloom of the sky, milk-purple clouds streaked with rose. A hard moon, thin like a shell, lay up there glowing inside itself with a cold secret light.
Alice felt her body harsh like the moon.
He did not love me.
They make me ugly, because unmeaning.
Beauty, straight, white, tall like a temple.
You cannot be beautiful alone....
I open my heart. I take the world to my heart. I am beauty.
... But my body is dark in the temple.