Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/573

 His great pale eye-lids hung down deep and shut, On both sides lay around his sunken nose Their shadows, and through his thin beard shone the skin. And only when the woman at his side, Less tall than he, and of a lissom shape, Hissed, giggling, in his ear some obscene word, Half rose of one black eye the heavy lid, And slowly round he turned his long, thin neck, As when a vulture lunges at a corpse.

And silent and more silent grew the room; All eyes were fixed upon the silent guest, And on the woman squatted, strange to see. "She is quite young"—a whispering round me went; And with a child's greed she was drinking milk. Yet almost old she seemed to me, whenever Her tongue shot through a gap in her black teeth, Her pointed tongue out of her hissing mouth, While her gray, eager glance took in the room; The gaslight in it shone like poisonous green.

And now she rose. He had not touched his glass; A great coin lit the table. She went out; He automatically followed her. The crimson curtain round the door fell to, Once more the cold draught shivered through the heat, But no one cursed. Through me a shiver ran.

I did not choose a partner—suddenly I knew them: it was Syphilis and Death.