She knew she must not. “I must seek you,” she whispered against the mounting marble, “differently.”
She walked and knew that Leon Dannenberg who was in each of her steps, in each of her pangs, in each leap forward of her blood was forever beyond her eyes.—Here you are, holy man. Where am I? There you are.
She walked away. A vast openness was upon her flank, it ached sweetly as if her blood poured through it. An open longing lay upon her flesh as if she walked away from him who had given her birth.—You are behind. Not so far behind as Edith. Nearer, holy man. Farther ahead.
But as she walked the inept city, a scene came and it filled her. She gave herself her scene fully, voluptuously ... starving ... while the long buildings passed her in a squad of uniformed dull giants.
He is up from a wide desk. He says no word, looking deep in her eyes. One instant doubt as to the full free independence of her coming. Doubt goes before the intelligence of her eyes. He took her hands, very lightly, released them.
“I am going North. I am on my way North.”
“How can I help you?”
“You have helped me all you can.”
“He came back ... you told him?”
She nodded.