“That isn’t true, Marius,” answered his sister scornfully. “You think it makes you pretty. You’re too pretty already. The Snakes have told you it was pretty, and you let them play with you. I won’t let them play with you.” The girl’s cheeks were flushed.
“A damned poor women are the Snakes,” said the boy. “Before that happened, I’d talk sassily. Besides, I don’t like women.” He threw the rouge back on the dresser and left.
Rio walked over to the girl.
“This is a queer place, sis, and he’s a queer boy, and you’re a queer girl. I don’t get it. I feel almost like one of the family, and yet—” he put his arms under the girl’s shoulders and lifted her to her feet, “—and yet, I feel funny. Like I been doped. I’m crazy about you and the kid and the story you told me. Aw, hell! Why talk about it.” Almost angrily he took a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and laid it on the dresser.
The girl didn’t smile. She looked curiously at the money for a moment and then covered it with a book.
Rio held her tightly and then stepped away, his eyes closed. When he opened them she was quietly undressing. He tried to help her. But his fingers were clumsy.
The girl threw back the curtain around the bed and lay down, her eyes staring upward as though searching for something. Rio looked up too, and saw a tapestry hung like a canopy over them.
“The Madonna!” he cried. “Good God! Not here!—where She can see!”
The girl lifted herself. On her face lay the shadow of pain. She spread her thick hair on the pillow with swift fingers, except for one dark strand which cut across her breast like a wound.
“Why do you mind Her?” she asked. “She is kind.... She is forgiving.... She is there, where one can pray to Her—afterwards.”