—Poor Harry!...
“No,” she said aloud. “You wanted her to follow and she did not. She respects you too much. Can’t you respect yourself? What you said to Clara was true ... the long and terrible Way that you must go. Cannot you say to yourself what you said to Clara?” Once more Fanny lay in her bed straight-stretched and her eyes open: once more the light poured in upon her eyes.
Her head was light. It lifted her like a balloon above the City. She was afloat above the brittle stone. The world was black and was suffused by fires. The light was the Black breathing.
“It is true,” said her mouth. “I am falling upward. I have nothing to do with this. I am falling upward.”
Her words lifted upon the Night that poured in her eyes. She saw her words. She saw herself. She drank her words and herself.
—I hope it is not Johns who is keeping Clara. No. It is not he. Clara would not ... even if he would ... after what was. Why do I care? I am not done with Clara!... But I did right. I must say No and No ... endlessly No to all the world’s questions. That is saying Yes—to what? How strange it is, this Being in me that flies. I am the wings of myself.
She was very light. She was afloat in an impenetrable Dark which yet she pierced for she was suffusion of light. She lay there, eyes and mouth wide open, limp palms at her sides, and heard the cadence of her breath.
—I am not unhappy, she thought. Then her eyes closed....
She was in a station of the Subway. Clara was beside her. Crowds surged in four great streams. She lost Clara. She was afraid. Streams dark and turgid beneath the crust of the earth were men and women. She saw ten thousand hats and gloves and skirts in sharp detail. She saw beneath the pandemonium of colored cloths, straw, feathers, leather ... each one sheerly alone ... a single Skin. She felt the Skin grey-white. The straws and silks and collars pricked the Skin: and the Skin hurt. She wanted to be naked of these vari-colors. They hurt. The crowds flowed on. Upon the faces of the men and women were smiles: the faces were not naked, they were covered with smiles. Upon the feet of the men and women were shoes. Shoes and smiles pricked in hard waves on the grey-white Skin.
She was aware of this steel cavern under the crust of the earth where four streams ploughed and mangled upon each other. On the steel were casings of cement. It was rough. It cut against the quick of her nails. It pricked the steel that held the edge of the earth.