He was used to writing in moods so bad he could assume he was passing through a swamp at midnight—some of his best work had come out of periods worse than this, and some of his worst efforts had emerged from hours which had been too pleasant. It was almost as if he had to suffer while working in order to come closer to exercising some more ultimate faculty of judgment. It was a terror to write if one wished to speak of important matters and did not know if one was qualified—sometimes the depressions helped to give sanction to the verdicts taken. It was not so unreasonable. The question is
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