‚ÄúWhy, yes‚ÅÝ‚Äîyes, of course; only this little baby didn‚Äôt have any other father.‚Äù
‚ÄúYes, I know one like that,‚Äù she said‚ÅÝ‚Äîand then she added softly: ‚ÄúPoor little Christ-baby.‚Äù
Bles hesitated, and before he found words Zora was saying:
‚ÄúHow white she is; she‚Äôs as white as the lily, Bles; but‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI‚Äôm sorry she‚Äôs white‚ÅÝ‚ÄîBles, what‚Äôs purity‚ÅÝ‚Äîjust whiteness?‚Äù
Bles glanced at her awkwardly but she was still staring wide-eyed at the picture, and her voice was earnest. She was now so old and again so much a child, an eager questioning child, that there seemed about her innocence something holy.
‚ÄúIt means,‚Äù he stammered, groping for meanings‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúit means being good‚ÅÝ‚Äîjust as good as a woman knows how.‚Äù
She wheeled quickly toward him and asked him eagerly:
‚ÄúNot better‚ÅÝ‚Äînot better than she knows, but just as good, in‚ÅÝ‚Äîlying and stealing and‚ÅÝ‚Äîand everything?‚Äù
Bles smiled.
‚ÄúNo‚ÅÝ‚Äînot better than she knows, but just as good.‚Äù
She trembled happily.
‚ÄúI‚Äôm‚ÅÝ‚Äîpure,‚Äù she said, with a strange little breaking voice and gesture. A sob struggled in his throat.
“Of course you are,” he whispered tenderly, hiding her little hands in his.