She discusses her portrait, which constitutes the
frontispiece; is glad of her good strong body, and still awaits in a
wild, frenzied impatience the coming of the devil to take her
sacrifice, and to whom she would dedicate her life. She loves but one
in all the world, an older "anemone" lady, once her teacher. She ran
not distinguish between right and wrong; love is the only thing real
which will some day bring joy, but it is agony to wait. "Oh, dame!
damn! damn! damn! every living thing in the world!--the universe be
damned!" herself included. She is "marvelously deep," but thanks the
good devil who has made her without conscience and virtue so that she
may take her happiness when it comes. Her soul seeks but blindly, for
nothing answers. How her happiness will seethe, quiver, writhe, shine,
dance, rush, surge, rage, blare, and wreak with love and light when it
comes!
The devil she thinks fascinating and strong, with a will of steel,
conventional clothes, whom she periodically falls in love with and
would marry, and would love to be tortured by him. She holds imaginary
conversations with him. If happiness does not come soon she will
commit suicide, and she finds rapture in the thought of death. In
Butte, Montana, where she lives, she wanders among the box rustlers,
the beer jerkers, biscuit shooters, and plunges out into the sand and
barrenness, but finds everything dumb.
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