"The woman trembled slightly in the chill breeze, her long hair stirring about her shoulders. Her dancer's body was a sculptor's dream. She stared straight ahead of her, and what the men behind her could not see was that a soaring sweep of sparkling awareness had captured her eyes. It was a bizarre tabeau: the nuder and and superbly balanced woman at the edge of the precipice and the heavily clothed and armed men unable to get near her." And then came the cry. `Please, don't jump.'" For Martha Seligson, the totality of everything she had been taught, been made to feel and understand, had passed into the realm of illusion.