“I suppose so. It don’t fit in very well, though, does it? with the religion of the Bible.”
“There are so many religions of the Bible. Perhaps it fits in right well.”
Clara’s nervous laugh: “You and Susan’ll get on well together. You are both philosophers. But you’re both good—though you’re better, Dear, and deeper. I know that. Susan talks awful bad. But you know, Dear, what she says has something to do with Christianity. Sort of twisted like. But it has. You wait and see. When you know her. Susan ... she’s like a saint....”
—Christ, you must loose your buried feet and your arms without hands!
Christ, you must not be twisted like that tree!
Christ, you must not be rooted like a tree!
Walk the earth, brother.
Fanny’s eyes shut once more. She saw the white neck of Susan Sennister: on its side the little birthmark like the print of a black foot ... clear because her neck was white. She heard her voice: the resonant low voice of one who speaks often with herself. She saw the black eyes of Tessie upon her: the full lips, redder than rouge, the crowded high-pressed brow, the child-hands....
Clara sat still.—She will go to sleep now.
* * *
Fire in Clara’s eyes. The desperate embrace together of her life and of her love for Fanny rose lucent in them. She said:
“Well, if you want to meet my friends, you shall meet them. I’ll give a party to celebrate your being here, and your getting well—and the hope that you’ll stay on.”