are, and fiery am I, and fire should be friends with fire. And when you make me angry, with your jealousy and mistrust like the ants, I remember, I remind myself: 'But see the beauty of the fire in her! And think how the ants have tortured her and filled her with fear and with horror!' And then the rage goes down again, and I know I love you, and I know that fire loves fire, and that therefore you love me. And I chalk up another mark against the ants, who have tortured you with their cold energy and their conscious formic-acid that stings like fire. And I love you because you've suffered from them as I have. And I love you because you and your husband cherish the fire between you, sacred, apart from the ants. A bas les fourmis.
"I have been like a man buried up into his neck in an ant-heap: so buried in the daily world, and stung and stung and stung again, because I wouldn't change and grow cold, till now their poison is innocuous, and the formic acid of social man has no effect on me. And I've kept my warmth. And I will keep it, till I give it up to the unknown, out of my poor fat body. And it is my banner, and my wife and my children and my God—just the flicker that is in my heart like a fire, and that I live by. I can't speculate about God. I can't do it. It seems to me a cold, antish trick. But the fire that is in my heart is God, and I will not forswear it, no, not if you offer me all the world. And fire is full of seeds—full of seeds—and let them scatter. I won't cherish it on a domestic hearth. I say I won't. So don't bring that up against me. I wont cherish it on the domestic hearth. I will use it against the ants, while they swarm over everything. And I'll call fire to my fire, and set the ant-heap at last in a blaze. Like kerosene poured in. It shall be so. It shall be so. Don't oppose me. Believe the flame in your heart, once and for all, and don't oppose me. Believe the flame of your own heart, and be with me. Remember I am with you against the ants. Remember that. And if I am Abraham's bosom—isn't it better than no bosom, in a world that simmers with busy ants? And would you leave every young, warm, naked thing on the ground for the ants to find. Would you?"
He looked at her searchingly. She was pale, and moved,
