METROPOLIS made of crystal, through which the bones shone silver. Cold streamed from the glazen skin which did not contain a drop of blood. The being held its beautiful hands pressed against its breast, which was motionless, with a gesture of determination, almost of deflance.
But the being had no face. The beautiful curve of the neck bore a lump of carelessly shaped mass. The skull was bald, nose, lips, temples merely traced. Eyes, as though painted on closed lids> stared unseeingly, with an expression of calm madness, at the man-who did not breathe. «Be courteous, my parody;" said the far·oH voice, which sounded as though the house were talking in its sleep. "Greet Joh Fredersen, the Master over the great Metropolis:'
The being bowed slowly to the man. The mad eyes neared him like two darting Barnes. The mass began to speak; it said in a voice full of a horrible tenderness: "Good evening, Joh Fredersen .... J> Ahd these words were more alluring than a half-open
mouth. "Good, my Pearll Good, my Crown-jewell" said the far-off voice, full of praise and pride. ~ But at the same moment the being lost its balance. It fell, . tipping forward, towards Joh Fredersen. He stretched out his hands to catch it, feeling them, in the moment of contact, to be burnt by an unbearable coldness, the brutality of which brought up in him a feeling of anger and disgust. He pushed 'the being away from him and towards Rotwang, who was standing near him as though fallen from the air. Rotwang took the being by the arm. He shook his head. "Too yiolent," he said. ~'Too violent. My beautiful parody, I fear your temperament will get you into much more trouble." "What is that?" asked Joh Fredersen, leaning his hands against the edge of the table-top, which he felt behind him. Rotwang turned his face towards him, his glorious eyes . glowing as watch fires glow when the wind lashes them with its cold lash. "Who is it?" he replied. "Futura Parody ... wllatever you like to call it. Also: delusion In short: it is a wo-
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