a shiver of fire through me. But I still knew nothing about women. I
never even offered to kiss her.

But when she was away from me, at night specially, I would go into long,
luxurious, amorous imaginations over her and the possession of her, and
I would dream of loving her, and of having a little cottage and
children....

But words and elegant, burning phrases are never enough for a woman.

In a week I noticed her going by on the arm of a mill-hand.

* * * * *

And, broke again, I wrote to my grandmother that I must have fifty
dollars to get back to school on. And, somehow, she scraped it together
and sent it to me. My first impulse was to be ashamed of myself and
start to return it. Then I kept it. For, after all, it was for poetry's
sake.

* * * * *

On the train to Hebron, as I walked up the car to my seat, health
shining in my smooth, clear face and skin, the women and girls gave me
approving, friendly glances, and I was happy.

A summer of control from unhealthy habits had done this for me, a summer
of life, naked, in the open air, plus exercise. I had learned a great
lesson. To Barton I owe it that I am still alive, vigorously alive, not
crawlingly ... but I suffered several slumps before I attained and held