Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
  'My nerves are bad to-night.  Yes, bad.  Stay with me.
'Speak to me.  Why do you never speak.  Speak.
  'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
'I never know what you are thinking.  Think.'
  I think we are in rats' alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
  'What it that noise?'
		    The wind under the door. 
'What is that noise now?  What is the wind doing?'
		    Nothing again nothing. 


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