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“Come on, Sid, help me get this beam off ‘er. It’s okay, Missus. We’ve got yer.”As they lifted I took a sharp intake of breath. Thank God I could breath again. The two men lifted me out of the pile of debris that used to be my home. The one called Sid, said:“Yer safe now love. We’ll take yer to the medics. They’ll check yer over don’t you worry.”"What happened, where is my husband?” I screamed at them.“A doodlebug love. Yer know, one o’ them flyin’ bomb things. Bleedin’ Jerries. Fell right in front of yer ‘ouse it did. You’re lucky to be alive, I’ll tell yer!”I was shaking now, shock was setting in.“Where’s my husband?” I said again.“Don’t you remember, Anna? He’s away in the Air Force. He’s okay.” I turned my head. It was the lady in the red dress. “You’ve had a shock sweetheart. Let’s get you some tea.”I didn’t get it. What was happening to me? I looked around. The quiet suburban street where I lived was gone. In it’s place were piles of bricks and broken timbers. A little along the. This time I felt some of the fragility of those fingers. A timid hesitancy. It was a beginning. And this was how I was now doomed to spend eternity?"But before you disappear into the painting, as its viewer or it's subject," said Gleyre, "I must warn you!"Warn me? Still, now, better late than never!"What?" I said, my eyes intent upon that naked woman, eager to be absorbed into her."Even if you do succeed in achieving full sypathetic identity with the woman in this painting, even if you become that woman, you will still feel the same urge as before." "What?" I asked. 'What urge?' is what I meant to say, but I wanted to concentrate on this new identity, to feel the woman's fingertips as my own, to become that which I so devoutly desired and so relieve myself of that desire, to achieve a perfect union with that woman portrayed in the painting. Gleyre understood me even so."Then, my friend, you will feel a desire to kiss your own ass. If that is your bent, and I.
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