—Give me your eyes. Not to her! Let me hold your eyes.
Thelma flung herself on Samson’s lap. She kissed him.
Fanny saw his eyes draw in, swerve to another orbit, flame away.... The line of Thelma’s thigh lashed in blue silk, the crumple of her little breasts bursting within the lowcut waist ... there, there.
The eyes of Samson died from the eyes of Fanny.
He stood. He touched Thelma’s lips with his hand.
“Come.”
They were gone....
Fanny heard the door shut. She was alone. She sat down where she had sat before at the table. She arose. She shut out the gas. A peal of Thelma’s laughter pierced the door. The room clapped close about the fainting flame of the one candle.
Fanny sat down where she had sat before. Beyond her rigid gaze was an empty place. Beyond the empty place was the Night. Within her gaze was the Night. Her eyes held nothing.