I Am the Fox By Winifred Van Etten

There was one force in Selma Temple’s life as potent as the spectre of death, as elentless in pursuit, as variable in form, and as difficult to deflect. That was love. It came in many shapes: in the steady devotion of Gardner Heath, as in the plain and urgent vitality of Vincent. But always, thought Selma, it manifested itself in a desire to possess, not in a comforting, tender way, but as the hound in a last leap, with slavering jaws, seizes the fox. “I-I am the Fox” is the passionate cry that Selma utters in the opening scene. But there came a moment of blind revelation when she knew that captivity could be sweet, no matter how fierce the compulsion that brought it about; knew the sweetness of surrender and realised, at last, that there could be a glory of the slain