“Are you not Lord of us all?”
The black earth bloomed. Jesus was gay, he was a clear young man. With his two hands he touched the shrouded hair of the woman and it streamed like chrysoprase.
“Your child has blessed you,” he said.
She parted her robe, it was green also: it fell away and she was naked before Jesus. Her belly was silken smooth, her breasts thrust up like buds in a new Spring: she had born no child and she had known no man. Before Christ her body was sweet like a lily at dawn.
Fanny pressed her brow with her two hands, and saw the quiet women. They had stopped talking. They looked at her deep, and their voices had lagged away.
“O ... you will have tea!”
“Thank you, No. I’m afraid—we tire you. We’d better go. You’re not too strong yet.” Susan Sennister got up.
Fanny was warm in their understanding, and was ashamed. “O don’t go! You make me feel—I’m a bad substitute for Clara. Please!”
Susan sat stiffly, then she relaxed.
“You know,” she said, “it seems to me I’ve seen you before.”