“How much?”
“Not very much. I can’t like any one very much. But I do like you. Some day I might fall in love with you. A tiny bit. If you don’t rush me too much. But only physically. No one,” proudly, “can touch my soul!”
“Do you think that’s decent? Isn’t that sin?”
She flamed at him. “I can’t sin! I am above sin! I am really and truly sanctified! Whatever I may choose to do, though it might be sin in one unsanctified, with me God will turn it to his glory. I can kiss you like this—” Quickly she touched his cheek, “yes, or passionately, terribly passionately, and it would only symbolize my complete union with Jesus! I have told you a mystery. You can never understand. But you can serve me. Would you like to?”
“Yes, I would. . . . And I’ve never served anybody yet! Can I? Oh, kick out this tea-drinking mollycoddle, Cecil, and let me work with you. Don’t you need arms like these about you, just now and then, defending you?”
“Perhaps. But I’m not to be hurried. I am I! It is I who choose!”
“Yes. I guess prob’ly it is, Sharon. I think you’ve plumb hypnotized me or something.”
“No, but perhaps I shall if I ever care to. . . . I can do anything I want to! God chose me to do his work. I am the reincarnation of Joan of Arc, of Catherine of Sienna! I have visions! God talks to me! I told you once, that I hadn’t the brains to rival the men evangelists. Lies! False modesty! They are God’s message, but I am God’s right hand!”
She chanted it with her head back, her eyes closed, and even while he quaked, “My God, she’s crazy!” he did not care. He would give up all to follow her. Mumblingly he told her so, but she sent him away, and he crept off in a humility he had never known.