The Birmingham age-herald., 1922-12-24

was was gray; and so perhaps were her thoughts.
 Only the thick black hair of her head and the pale skin of her face had definite outline, standing out from the gray background like the head of a swimmer in misty sea-, There was no color anywhere about her, except the two little points of ruby light in her great somber black eyes.
 One could scarcely tell whether thie light was reflected or came mysteriously from within.
 She was watching the man in the room beyond, in the library. He sat at desk, writing. writing.
 Sometimes he paused to gaze into space, where inspirations lie ready to spring forth at the beckon of the seeing eye. Sometimes hi, thin fin gers burrowed into his blond hair or snarled in and out of his ashen beard. Again, he would lean on his elbows and over his face with his hands.
 And ever and anon a wisp of smoke from discarded cigarette in the ash tray--an old pewter porringer- would curl aslant his beautiful pro- file, giving an Olympian touch to it.
 Men tire, and women fade" she murmured in an undertone. "But I haven't faded, and he hasn't tired. It's that will-o'-the- -wisp. I wonder what I shall have to do? Half illu- sions are the most deadly. With full illusion, one does not think. with no illusion at all one is free. How shall act to convince him?'
 Presently the writer dropped his pencil, rose and walked hastily over to one of the windows.
 The woman in gray slid off the lounge. She -drifted rather than walked to a spot directly behind him, her chin almost touching his shoul- der, and look ed out into the diademed night. If he felt her presence, he gave no sign. For several minutes they remained thus.
 "One never tires of that picture she said.
 "No It is always beautiful"
 These two had many things in common, among which was the rap ture of standing on heights The apartment was on the top floor of 20-story business block in the center of the town.
 There were two sides, as with this story. One looked out upon the river and the sea, and the other com manded the great thoroughfares, the towers of marble and granite and brick. the lofty. spidery bridges.
 White stars above the yellow stars below flickered and winked at them, stars celestial and earthly, the white light of peace and the yellow light of turmoil. Gods and mans.
 "Yes. it is always beautiful up here. Do you remember that snow storm last winter, how we sat here by this window for two full hours? Mas ever anything more exquisite than that white mantle which oblit- erated the sunsightly, which covered the city's sears and wounds?"
 She laid q hand upon his shoulder, possessively.
 Sears and wounds" he repeated, reaching mp and laying his hand on hers. How like a great city human ity is. Always building up, always tearing down, moving and twisting, now beautiful now ugly:and one by one the landmarks vanish and are forgotten, as you and I shall vanish and be forgotten.'
 Read me what you have written. You've been at that desk for three whole hours. Do you want your cof- fee now? Oh, it will be a great play. The second act wasvsuperp.
 You ought to know" He smiled and then looked at his watch. "One o'clock? l didn't know it was so late. 4a1o to peu.a DoH | DotHcT apout thc coffee
 But I want tor
 He caught her by the arms and lightly swung her over toward the desk--with the strength rather as tonishing in so slender a body-and tilted the lamp so that the glare of j it might cover her. The ruby points of light expanded until her eyes glowed like Burgundy wine in glasses held against candlelight. Her skin was no longer pale but rosy; and her bosom rose up and out with the deep intake of ecstatic breath.
 should Have Been Heroic
 Selma Nordstrom was one of those anomalies which sometimes come down from the great north countries She should have been of heroic mold her hair blonde as ripe wheat, her eyes as blue AS cornflcwer, Vikings daughter that she was. Instead. she twas as blossom from the valley of Tuscany.
 Selma, you are like flame. When l am near you, l am always warm. Those wine e-dipped eyes of yours seem to open up every prison door in. my mind. You have been " in spration. To you alone do l owe the fame l have" He took her in his arms and kissed her hair.
 q have always wanted to die in moments like this. You call me flame. I want to be blown out; E don't want tn 1i.s arnhar hy ep,hfr