“And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. “I do want you. ” “With you!” “And as for your people?” “They don’t count.
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