The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. The man was mad to marry me. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. And to think that there they are making history! There they are putting together the plans of a new world. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist’s equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity.
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