All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. ‘En effet, it is for this that I was enquiring of this man if he has pen and paper. “I certainly knew him no better than you. Opening the door he then stepped into a dark narrow passage leading, as he was well aware, to the chapel. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. ‘I do not wish to hear any more reasons so foolish, so do not trouble to think of them.
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