142 < 18 > THE HIGH PRICE OF FAME Michelle became a constant in those weeks, basking in the shame-ridden celebrity that had been created around Lucy. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. I expect Mr. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. He gripped the window-sill behind him. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. I do not wish for you to see me feed. But one was clearly the goddess among them, her face hidden, her body seeming to call out to me to possess it at once. I’ve been thinking, you know—I’m not sure that primarily the perception of beauty isn’t just intensity of feeling free from pain; intensity of perception without any tissue destruction.
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