I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. You think you will. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written. Why did you let him have it?" "Let him have it? I can't stand at the elbow of any of the guests and regulate his or her actions. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast.
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