“It is not godless. Go home. You will know.”
I pressed myself from the chair.
“Tell me one thing then: is it human?”
She shook her head.
“How do we know how many things are human?”
A great lust took me then to ravish her of her secret. I leaned over the table and I gripped her arms. I drew her up toward me across the table. I vised her shoulders.
“Tell me! Tell me!”
She shut her eyes, so close now to my own; and her hands fended them.
Her desert face, her talonous hands were very near my eyes. I thought of Mildred: I had grasped her, too—to force what truth from her?—and I had failed. I was motionless in amaze at my cruel thought linking this woman with Mildred, linking my need of her with my love for Mildred.
“Let go,” I heard her mutter. “Do you want to blind me?”