is sufficiently mad to pull it into
taffy shapes and incredible scrawls.

"But I must be warned. My madness sought to avenge itself at her
intrusion. It overcame me with its anger. She was not content to let me
possess the beautiful image of her. Although I have explained the thing
to her clearly. It is possible she does not understand. I will talk to
her again with greater lucidity. I will tell her that I do not desire
her except as a dream for my mirror. But I have said that to her."

Under the green-white sputter of a street lamp, Mallare halted. His mind
was preoccupied with unraveling the mystery of Rita. He stood, a tall
figure without a hat, a slant of black hair across his forehead, and
ignoring eyes. A beggar in a ragged overcoat shuffled, head down, toward
him.

"She is only a child," Mallare thought, "but it is evident that passion
already lifts her breasts. Her simplicity is betrayed by incipient
orgasms prowling for an outlet. This, she fancies, is love. It is
fortunate she is a virgin. Still, I must not rely too greatly on that.
For virginity is an insidious bed fellow for a maiden. Forefingers and
phallic shadows have ravished her in dreams. And if she is a virgin in
spirit as well as body, she is still a woman--and therefore dangerous.

"Ah, what loathsome and lecherous mouths women are! Offering their urine
ducts as a mystic Paradise! Stretching themselves on their backs and
seducing egoists with the unctuous lie of possession. The mania for
possession--that most refined of all instincts--the most heroic of
insanities! How easily they circumvent it! To desire is merely to love.
But to create in oneself the objects of desire--that is to be mad and
above life. Beyond it.

"I must explain this to her. If she loves me well enough she will
understand. All things are possible in love. I will explain to her that
I possess her at will without the loathsome absurdities of sex."

The beggar paused and mumbled beside Mallare. Watery, reddened eyes
waited patiently for the alms asked. Mallare had fallen into silence. He
stood regarding the beggar intently. His thought labored for a moment,
scratching in silence at doors swinging slowly shut. His thought
withdrew and Mallare was alone.

He stood up tall and stern in a darkened chamber. His eyes stared
intently at the figure of Rita. Her face, pale and alive, smiled
imploring in the mendicant's place. He talked, but the beggar, still
patient, heard no sound.