THE GIRL—I wouldn't lose it. It's pretty.
THE TAILOR—Yes, it's pretty and the world mustn't lose it. You will find that most people can't see. I know only two, you and I, but there must be others. That's your task now, finding people who can see the cloth and cleaning butter plates, of course. (There is a loud pounding on the great door and a shout of "Open, in the King's name!" The knocking increases in violence and the command is repeated. Then men begin to swing against the door with heavy bars and hatchets.)
THE TAILOR—Here (he makes a gesture toward the girl), take the cloth. Go quickly to the kitchen. Then come back in a moment and save the rope, too.
THE GIRL FROM THE KITCHEN—But what do they want?
THE TAILOR—They want to kill me.
THE GIRL FROM THE KITCHEN—They mustn't.
THE TAILOR—They won't if you get out and leave me alone. Here, hurry. (He half pushes her out the little door. Then he returns to the bag and seems to pull out something. He looks to the ceiling and finds a hook fairly in the middle of it. He moves his hand upward as if tossing something, and goes through the motions of tying a knot around his neck. Then the Tailor takes a chair and moves it to the center of the room. He stands upon it. The violent assault upon the door begins with renewed vigor. Some of the axes bite through the wood. The Tailor steps off the chair and dangles in the air. He floats in space, like a man in a magic trick, but one or two in the audience, dramatic critics, perhaps, or scullery maids, may see that round his neck and fastened to the hook in the ceiling is a yellow rope.)
Turning Thirty
"Margaret Fuller's father was thirty-two when she was born," writes Katharine Anthony in her biography of the great feminist. "A self-made man, he had been obliged to postpone marriage and family life to a comparatively advanced age."