“Go write your damn masterpieces!” Louis shouted. Henley and Baxter laughed, but everyone in the room knew Louis was livid when he jabbed his fork emphatically at Henley as he spoke. “When I suffer in mind, stories are my refuge; I take them like opium. Anyone who entertains me with a great story is a doctor of the spirit. Frankly, it isn’t Shakespeare we take to when we are in a hot corner, is it? It’s Dumas or the best of Walter Scott. Don’t children, especially children, deserve that kind of refuge? Even if it’s poetry?”
