They Say When Trouble Comes Close Ranks,

The Feeling Of Sunday Is The Same Everywhere, Heavy, Melancholy, Standing Still.

She Could Give Herself Up To The Written Word As Naturally As A Good Dancer To Music Or A Fine Swimmer To Water. The Only Difficulty Was That After Finishing The Last Sentence She Was Left With A Feeling At Once Hollow And Uncomfortably Full. Exactly Like Indigestion.

He Had Discovered That People Who Allow Themselves To Be Blown About By The Winds Of Emotion And Impulse Are Always Unhappy People.

And Then The Days Came When I Was Alone.

For The First Time She Had Dimly Realized That Only The Hopeless Are Starkly Sincere And That Only The Unhappy Can Either Give Or Take Sympathy--even Some Of The Bitter And Dangerous Voluptuousness Of Misery.