I had already learned too that I could not help him; that he would not be lifted out of that "sweet way of despair," which so attracts the artist spirit.

But still I would do my best.
"Do you understand ?" I asked.
"Of course, Frank, of course, but you have no conception how weary I am of the whole thing, of the shame and the struggling and the hatred.
To see those people coming into the box one after the other to witness against me makes me sick.

The self-satisfied grin of the barristers, the pompous foolish judge with his thin lips and cunning eyes and hard jaw.

Oh, it's terrible.

I feel inclined to stretch out my hands and cry to them, 'Do what you will with me, in God's name, only do it quickly; cannot you see that I am worn out?
If hatred gives you pleasure, indulge it.' They worry one, Frank, with ravening jaws, as dogs worry a rabbit.