"Mr.Mallet, what does he mean ?" "I mean that I 'm an angry, savage, disappointed, miserable man!" Roderick went on.

"I mean that I can't do a stroke of work nor think a profitable thought! I mean that I 'm in a state of helpless rage and grief and shame! Helpless, helpless--that 's what it is.

You can't help me, poor mother--not with kisses, nor tears, nor prayers! Mary can't help me--not for all the honor she does me, nor all the big books on art that she pores over.

Mallet can't help me--not with all his money, nor all his good example, nor all his friendship, which I 'm so profoundly well aware of: not with it all multiplied a thousand times and repeated to all eternity! I thought you would help me, you and Mary; that 's why I sent for you.

But you can't, don't think it! The sooner you give up the idea the better for you.