It Is Not A Fragrant World.

An Artist Cannot Deny Art, Nor Would He Want To. A Lover Cannot Deny Love.

But Nothing Seems To Do Any Good.

The Wet Air Was As Cold As The Ashes Of Love.

A Nice State Of Affairs When A Man Has To Indulge His Vices By Proxy.

One Would Think A Writer Would Be Happy Here — If A Writer Is Ever Happy Anywhere.