It is so difficult. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. 265 The madness crept around her like smoke under a door. . "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face.
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