"Often, as I trudged home, my cigarette case empty, my face burning in the auroral breeze as if I had just removed theatrical makeup, every step sending a throb of pain echoing through my head, I would inspect my puny little bliss from this side and that, and marvel, and pity myself, and feel despondent and afraid. The summit of lovemaking was for me but a bleak knoll with a relentless view."