Oh, Jack, we must help him.

He has done nothing." They were sitting together as she spoke, her head on his shoulder, her fingers held tight in his strong, brown hand.

She could get closer to him in this position, she always told him: these hands and cheeks were the poles of a battery between which flowed and flashed the vitality of two sound bodies, and through which quivered the ecstasy of two souls.
Suddenly the thought of Garry and what he had been, in the days of his brilliancy, and of what he had done to crush the lives about him came to her.

Could she not find some excuse for him, something which she might use as her own silent defence of him in the years that were to come?
"Do you think Garry was out of his mind, Jack?
He's been so depressed lately ?" she asked, all her sympathy in her voice.
"No, my blessed, I don't think so.

Everybody is more or less insane who succumbs to a crisis.