I dreamt I saw a woman's face among a throng. It is an evil face, but
there is a strange beauty in it. The flickering gleams thrown by street
lamps flash down upon it, showing the wonder of its evil fairness. Then
the lights go out.

I see it next in a place that is very far away, and it is even more
beautiful than before, for the evil has gone out of it. Another face is
looking down into it, a bright, pure face. The faces meet and kiss, and,
as his lips touch hers, the blood mounts to her cheeks and brow. I see
the two faces again. But I cannot tell where they are or how long a time
has passed. The man's face has grown a little older, but it is still
young and fair, and when the woman's eyes rest upon it there comes a
glory into her face so that it is like the face of an angel. But at
times the woman is alone, and then I see the old evil look struggling
back.

Then I see clearer. I see the room in which they live. It is very poor.
An old-fashioned piano stands in one corner, and beside it is a table on
which lie scattered a tumbled mass of papers round an ink-stand. An
empty chair waits before the table. The woman sits by the open window.

From far below there rises the sound of a great city. Its lights throw
up faint beams into the dark room. The smell of its streets is in the
woman's nostrils.

Every now and again she looks towards the door and listens: then turns to
the open window. And I notice that each time she looks towards the door
the evil in her face shrinks back; but each time she turns to the window
it grows more fierce and sullen.