ious mutiny.
They went away. The little Mallares who worship me went away, all but
one. The dumb one. Yes, I write of him again. He came to me then and his
tears were more horrible than the scream I had heard. His weeping came
too close. His weeping grew too loud. His arms embraced me and he held
his face too close to mine. And my name rose from his lips.

"I was alone with him and my fingers fought with his throat. This
blubberer who had followed me home in the snow, yes this insufferable
melancholiac who rained his tears into my Heaven--Mallare would have
killed him.

"But he was too sly. He slipped away and sprawled around the room. He
beat his hands against walls and tore at his hair. I followed watching
him and coaxing him to come close once more. I smiled at him to come
near again. But no, he avoided me. He stood against the curtains facing
me and pointing his finger at me. His mouth was open but no sound came
from it. There was only the noise of my phantom laughing.

"He stood pointing and I watched my name come like a dead shout from his
lip. His throat was alive with my name.

"'Mallare!' it said.

"I smiled at him. And I worshipped aloud so that he might hear. I
whispered to him to come close--this lugubrious blasphemer who wears my
name in his throat. But his face grew white. His arms dropped and he
leaned against the curtains. His eyes closed and he fell. The
Indifferent One remained. The smile of Mallare remained contemplating
the prostrate ones.

"The couch was still alive. But it was dark. Her outline was already
disintegrating. Goliath's fingers stared from her back.

"'The dark comedy ends,' I thought. 'My phantom dissolves in a suicidal
orgasm. And the little monster beneath her collapses amid too sudden
memories. Finis! The revenge that I so cleverly manipulated is
accomplished. And now Mallare disgorges a hallucination become too
nauseous. I have fouled this pretty one so that my senses might abandon
her. And see, they whimper under me. The dumb one lies in a corner and
even his tears are ended. And this sad eyed one, weary with intolerable
visions, and this one whose ears are filled with voices--all of them
whimper under me. But I must feel no pity for them. Mallare rides away
like a star....

"'And she dissolves. Vale Rita! The red and yellow dress again. Yes ...
yes--the green and orange shawl again. Put them on. Bravo Rita! Tragedy
bows in a decorative anti-climax. Little one, Mallare b