At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. With your pencil you see into the hearts of all; and without your pencil you are dumb and blind. In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. Here and there, a rectangular patch, darker than the rest, showed that some had been removed. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault.
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