The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. “Will you help me?” he asked. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. “Why can’t he reason with me,” she said, again and again, “instead of doing this?” Part 3 There presently came a phase in which she said: “I WON’T stand it even now. ” She went on, with a desperate attempt to be easy and colloquial: “You see, we were rather good friends, I thought, and now perhaps it will be difficult for us to get back to the old friendly footing. I don’t. ‘You imbecile.
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