That first morning it took me half an hour to set my first stickful, a dozen lines.

And hauing her from Trompart lightly reard, / Vpon his Courser set the louely lode,

It was good writing; astringent, economical. I now saw that Dawn O'Hara was sentimental and schoolgirly. This second piece of writing had a completely different attack. It was as though two distinct people had written these two pieces of fiction.

He felt the stress and strain of life, its fevers and sweats and wild insurgences—surely this was the stuff to write about! He wanted to glorify the leaders of forlorn hopes, the mad lovers, the giants that fought under stress and strain, amid terror and tragedy, making life crackle with the strength of their endeavor.