Anselm came toward him, crushing the orchid under foot, pulling in a pocket without moving his eyes from Stanley's. — Afraid of this, he came on, his voice lower, — this. . ssuccubus, he came on, sibilant, — thiss, beast with two backs. He brought out the crumpled photograph. — This is it isn't it, isn't it… He forced it in Stanley's face. — Isn't it…! And then it crumpled in his hand, as though drawing itself in upon its own blemishes of betrayal while his hand closed on it, drawn by the loded hieroglyphs coursing the flesh blue in selfish sympathy. — If you should never see me again? Anselm's voice broke. — Do you know what it is? he came on, almost inaudible, looking at no one. — Und wir bewundern es so, weil es gelassen verschmäht. . uns zu zerstören. .
He stood with the orchid crushed underneath his foot: even Don Bildow could swing him round.
— Where is my daughter?
— Your daughter? Anselm repeated, and sounded about to gag. — She's all right.
— Where is she?
— She's in church, Anselm said. — I left her in church, he repeated helplessly. The critic advanced on him as he stood with his head rolling from side to side. — Go on, that's enough of you, you. . go on, get out. .
Anselm threw himself at the man but Bildow, clinging to his arm, afraid to let go, held him back. — Get out, get out, Anselm cried. — Go home alone. Alone. Alone. .
— Shut up, you…
— Alone. Go home with your lover, old mister five fingers, haha, haha haha. . here, he went on, snatching the magazine up írom the floor and thrusting it in the face of the other, — here are some girls for you. Here! Do you think I don't know? do you think we all don't know, let's see the calluses on your right hand, old mister five fingers, hahahahahahahuhhhph. .
Bildow let go of him as he sank to the floor from the comparatively light blow, an effort which had, nevertheless, exhausted his antagonist who stepped back and in the moment it took him to realize that Anselm was down, composed himself, in triumph.
Maude's voice was faint, but clear in the silence. — This isn't the way I remember Christmas Eve, she said.
Someone laughed.
— The Lord wouldn't like this. .
— Well if this is the cultural center of the world you can give it right back to the Indians. .
Someone else laughed.
— And so that one said to me, just ask God, baby, She'll protect you. .
— Hehe, hehehe…
— We know what love is, don't we baby. .
— Stanley, please. .
— Just wait a minute, I want to… I ha\e to help him.
— Leave me alone.
— Where is my daughter?
— Leave him alone for a minute. He shouldn't have hit him.
— Stanley please. .
— Leave me alone. God damn you, leave me alone!
— But Agnes. .
— Stanley…
— Chr-ahst. .
— Yes I was told to expect this sort of thing in New York.
— Yes but I mean Chrahst don't go away, or we'll both go, let's both go to your hotel, I'll stay there tonight.
— But in another room.
— Chrahst yes.
— I was warned about that sort of thing in New York, his companion commented, adjusting his perfectly adjusted tie.
— Oh Rose, Esther said to where her sister sat on the floor in the dark with the records. — Aren't you tired?
— Are you having a nice party?
Esther put her face in her hands, and felt her sister's arm round her neck. — Oh Rose. Rose.
The hand under her became rigid, the paralysis ran up her arm, through her shoulders and neck, her face yellowing as the blood drained from behind its bronzed canvas. — Stanley!. . Agnes Deigh whispered, staring at him bent over Anselm, an arm around Anselm.
— You see, it's all right now, Stanley said gripping his shoulder but unable to raise it from the floor. Anselm opened his eyes.
In the hand she drew from under her, the white nails clutched a limp cinnamon-colored body. — I thought… it was something, Agnes Deigh said weakly to herself. Then she looked around quickly, opened her bag and pulled handfuls of things out which she stuffed in her coat pocket, to snap it closed a moment later upon the lifeless kitten. She summoned her voice in, — Stanley. .
— And now, you don't have to fight it any more, you. . An-selm's arm was flung around him, and Anselm's unshaven face tore at Stanley's cheek with the kiss.
— Stanley!. .
— You've got to listen carefully because it's very complicated, said someone dangling over her from behind, — Pavlov had dogs who salivated, but this time. .
— Stanley! she cried out. Stanley looked up to her. — Stanley, please come here.
— But. . Stanley said, rising and releasing Anselm, who sank back to the floor. — I can't leave him now, he said, taking a step toward her.
— God help me, Stanley, you must. She reached out and caught his wrist. — I think I'm going to be ill.
— But I can't leave him now, Stanley said, appealing to Don
Bildow who stood beside them. — Stanley, you can't leave me.
— But Agnes…
— Help me up.
— Where is he? Bildow burst out. — He's gone, he's gone, and where. .
They looked around. Anselm was not there. Stanley staggered and braced himself as Agnes Deigh stood, clinging to his arm. His voice broke when he spoke. — But he was almost… I almost. . what will he do now, alone?
Maude found the baby heavier than she had expected, when she stood with it. — Help me, she said.
— What's matter?
— We're going home.
— But that thing, you better leave it here, you better not take it, it might belong to somebody.
— Please, just. . open the door.
— Calls himself Tree, does he? I knew him when his name was Tannenbaum, someone said.
— Spain? But everybody in Spain's been dead for years. .
— I'm sorry, I'm going home with this gentleman, he's going to help me write a novel. I don't know what Mister Wipe will say. .
A girl was being sick behind a bookshelf. — You gotto excuse her, she's not used to this. And the bathroom door's locked. Mr. Feddle, clutching The Razors Edge, got to one side.
— That philodendron, that God damn cut leaf philodendron, that's the only thing I've seen growing in eleven years, if you call that growing. .
Nearby someone obligingly derived philander, — Philos, loving, plus andros, man. . the voice whined.
— It's my wife's, she pays more attention to it than she does to me. . that's why I thought about the scythe, that's why I couldn't understand it, breaking a scythe. . but tomorrow morning…
— You'll take me with you? Benny?
— She and Iphigenia, they're beginning to look like each other.
— Who's Iphigenia?
— The philodendron.
— What's that funny smell, I been smelling it all evening.
The heat, and the numbers of people, seemed to have heightened the scent of lavender which came from the dark doorway and pervaded the well-lighted room, except for the fragrant shade left by the tall woman, the trace of My Sin still clinging to the chair Agnes