There settled about her mouth a certain grim
line that sat strangely on so young a face. The service
marched on. There came the organ prelude that announced the
mourners' prayer. Then Rabbi Thalmann began to intone the
Kaddish. Fanny rose, prayer book in hand. At that Clarence
Heyl rose too, hurriedly, as one unaccustomed to the
service, and stood with unbowed head, looking at the rabbi
interestedly, thoughtfully, reverently. The two stood
alone. Death had been kind to Congregation Emanu-el this
year. The prayer ended. Fanny winked the tears from her
eyes, almost wrathfully. She sat down, and there swept over
her a feeling of finality. It was like the closing of Book
One in a volume made up of three parts.
She said to herself: "Winnebago is ended, and my life here.
How interesting that I should know that, and feel it. It is
like the first movement in one of the concertos Theodore was
forever playing. Now for the second movement! It's got to
be lively. Fortissimo! Presto!"
For so clever a girl as Fanny Brandeis, that was a stupid
conclusion at which to arrive.
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