Clara pondered. “They fit down there.”
“You mean: we fit up here?”
Clara’s eyes large on her friend: “We fit together....”
Fanny sat beside her on the bed and took her hand. So they stayed. Fanny saw two lines running close ... red lines ...: they bellied out, wide, wide to hold the House: they ran in close once more. They were less red—dimmer.
Laughter and words below volleyed up to them ... anonymous, sharp.
“Tell me,” said Clara, “don’t you think—“
“What dear?”
“That we fit together?”
Fanny bent over the white face of her friend. Suddenly, she kissed her lips. She laughed.