nodded and smiled at the growing responsiveness of the Saturday night crowd.

An icy fear suddenly burst inside her: a cold stream, forming tributaries in her arms, her legs. 'What is it,' she thought hurriedly, 'what is it I'm supposed to sing?'

Our song-our song-our song. stumbled through her mind-overlaid. "Birth of the Blues"? "Moon Over Miami"? Too late now. She had to think of something quickly.

Then, with a whispering giggle growing inside her, she said, "My next number will be: 'I Surrender Dear.'" She turned to Joe and smiled with a relief she hadn't known in years. He returned the smile hesitantly; twitched his shoulders as though to drive away a growing impatience.

She watched his jaw revolve as he chewed on the end of his tongue and flipped the coin too regularly, like a man who winds his watch.

FUTILITY

٤.٤

Hunted I have

But have not found

The spool with the scarlet thread

Fate wound;

Nor seedlings

Planted before the frost;

All things I see

All things are lost;

And ever and ever

The shining lure

Turns in my hand To a dust dry burr.

-Genevieve K. Stephens

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