Page:I, Mary MacLane (1917).pdf/191

 informs and translates me as if crackling bright-jagged lightnings broke along my sky.—

It is a night of whispering breezes and little restless clouds, an endearing night. It makes solitude a delectation. I walked out in it, in the glimmering moonlight past buildings and houses and mines and mounds. My thoughts as I walked were all of Me: how fascinating is Me.

I came in at midnight and met Me in my mirror. I pushed my three-cornered hat backward off my head, slipped out of my loose coat and dropped my squeezed gloves. I sank fatiguedly into a little chair before the mirror, tipped the chair forward on its front legs, rested my elbows on the bureau and my chin in my hands and looked absorbedly at myself. Lovingly, tenderly, discerningly, marveling and absorbed and deeply fascinated I looked at Me in the mirror. 'You enchanted one!' said I, 'You Witch-o'-the-world! you Mary MacLane!—who you are I don't know—what you are I but partly know. You're my Companion, my Familiar, my Lover, my wilding Sweetheart—I love you! I know that—that's enough. I love your garbled temper, your aching thoughts, your troubled Heart, your wasted spirit. I know much, much, much of you and love you! I love your beauty-sense and your proud scornful secret super-sensitiveness. I love your