—What is there here to see? He pulled a bill from his pocket. As his hand went toward hers, a hot wind stopped it. He felt them both cold. Under her eyes he saw a shadow like a whip’s mark.
He put his money away.
She left the room.
She returned, she carried a silver platter. Upon it a bottle of wine. Two slim glasses.
It was long silence now, with them less heavy against it. Silence full with its own mood, its own blood, strong to live.
The wine stood erect on the subtle table. Mrs. Luve leaned and poured of it, a drop first in her glass, then his glass full, then her glass full. Her bare arm pouring red wine came from a dim kimona.
... In the face of a worn woman black eyes burning: eyes blazing against the face, leaping from face and woman: eyes touching the red of the wine.
He felt:—I am disappearing.
There is a silence like light
Upon us.
Moving like light a silence
Upon words.
There will be words moving in light:
There will be lighted words....