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Rh

[Suddenly, with pity yet with scorn]

Why have you always been so timid, Charlie? Why are you always afraid? What are you afraid of?

[Thinking in a panic]

She sneaked into my soul to spy!

[Then boldly]

Well then, a little truth for once in a way!

[Timidly]

I’m afraid of—of life, Nina.

[Nodding slowly]

I know.

[After a pause—queerly]

The mistake began when God was created in a male image. Of course, women would see Him that way, but men should have been gentlemen enough, remembering their mothers, to make God a woman! But the God of Gods—the Boss—has always been a man. That makes life so perverted, and death so unnatural. We should have imagined life as created in the birth-pain of God the Mother. Then we would understand why we, Her children, have inherited pain, for we would know that our life’s rhythm beats from Her great heart, torn with the agony of love and birth. And we would feel that death meant reunion with Her, a passing back into Her substance, blood of Her blood again, peace of Her peace!

[ ''has been listening to her fascinatedly. She gives a strange little laugh'']