"Right," said the Master, "I didn't think of her. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. She winked at him as he shut the door. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. White, my landlady, believes his story. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. There was a girlfriend who was mentally ill. " "On the contrary, if that is a specimen, they must be poets.
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