lamped.

But the store moved, moved.

There was a black wheel with a gleaming axle--the Sun--that sent light
dimming down its spokes as it spun. From the rim of the wheel where it
was black, bright dust flung away as it spun. The store was a speck of
bright dust. It flung straight. It moved along the velvet path of the
street, touching, not merging with its night. It moved, it moved, she
sat still in its moving. The store caught up with Meyer. He entered the
store. He was there. He was there, scooped up from the path of the
street by the store. Now her work was over. He was there. The store was
a still store, fixed in a dirty house. Its brightness the spurt of two
jets of gas. He was back from _Schul_.--That is all.

A man with blond hair, flat feet that shuffled, small tender hands. A
man with a mouth gentle, slow; with eyes timid to see. "Come dear: that
is no place."--Why she lets the child play with my shears!

Tender hands pull Flora from beneath the table. Flora comes blinking,
unprotesting. Where her father's hands leave off from her, she stays.
She sinks back to the floor. She looks at her little fists from which
the scizzors are gone. She misses hard gleaming steel. She opens and
shuts her fists and looks at them: she cries. But she does not
move.--Her mother does not move.--Her father does not move. He squats on
the table. His head sways with his thoughts. He knows that Flora will
stop--what can he do?--in perhaps half an hour. It is a weak cry. Grows
weaker. He is used to it. There is work.

He sews. 'A woman of valour who can find? For her price is far above
rubies'--She will stay here, stay here silent. Flora should be in bed.
Who to put his child in bed? Hard gas-light on her beloved hair? A
wither, a wilt--'She is like the merchant ships; she bringeth her food
from afar'--He sews and rips.--What, Lord, have I left undone? I love my
Esther.--He sews.--I love my little girl. Lord, I fear the Lord--'She
looketh well to the ways of the household, and eateth not the bread of
idleness.'--Lighten me, Lord, give me light. There is my daughter
crying, who should sleep: and my wife sitting, who will not, who will
never without me go home. She is afraid. She says she is afraid. She is
sullen and silent. She is so fair and sweet against my heart. Lord! why
did her hands that held my head speak a lie? and her silent lips that
she let press upon my mouth, why were they lies? Lord, I cannot
understand. Lord, I pray