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the rich and to take pride in my ability to accept smilingly such insults and privations. During this 
autumn as fully detailed in another place, the passion to express myself through art was born in me. 
The months passed in a pageant of delight. 
My liaison with the Dog came suddenly to an end. Exactly as in the case of my wife, the half-
suppressed strain of madness in her blood came to the surface. She took to orgies of solitary 
drunkenness. This was nothing new; in fact, when I met her they were of almost daily occurrence. I 
succeeded in pulling her together for a time, but she relapsed. When I found this out, I told her the 
story of my wife and put my foot down. I gave her to understand that if it happened again I was 
through. She knew me for a man of my word an quit, but a few days later it was as bad as ever. I 
gave her one more chance, but of course in vain. 
Early in October, I broke up the menage and transferred my headquarters to a studio in West 9th 
Street, which I shared with a friend of the Dog's, hereafter described as the Camel. 
Her name was Roddie Minor, a married woman living apart from her husband, a near artist of 
German extraction. She was physically a magnificent animal, with a man's brain well stocked with 
general knowledge and a special comprehension of chemistry and pharmacy. She was at this time 
employed in the pathological laboratory of a famous doctor, but afterwards became managing 
chemist to a prominent firm of perfumery manufactures. 
I have said that she had a man's brain, but despite every effort, there was still one dark corner in 
which her femininity had taken refuge and defied her to expel it. From time to time the garrison 
made a desperate sortie. At such moments her womanhood avenged itself savagely on her ambition. 
She was more frantically feminine than any avowed woman could possibly be. She was ruthlessly 
irrational. Such attacks were fortunately as short as they were severe, but unfortunately too often 
did irreparable damage. 
In the upshot, this characteristic led to our separation. I treated her as an 
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equal in all respects, and for some months everything went as smoothly as if she had been really a 
man. But that beleaguered section of her brain sent out spies under cover of night, and whispered 
to the besiegers sinister suggestions, to shake their confidence in themselves. The idea was born 
and grew that she was essentially my inferior. She began to feel my personality as an obsession. She 
began to dread being dominated, though perfectly well aware that I wished nothing less, that her 
freedom was necessary to my enjoyment of my own. But she failed to rid herself of this 
hallucination, and when I decided to make a Great Magical Retirement on the Hudson, in a canoe, in 
the summer of 1918, we agreed to part. There was no quarrel. Our friendship and even our intimacy 
continued. My last night in New York before leaving for Europe was spent in here arms. 
Such weekends as she could manage were passed in my camp on Oesopus Island. Her first visit was 
rather an adventure. She had brought up supplies of canned stuff from New York to Staatsburg, 
where I met her with the canoe. She had understood from my letter that the island was close to this 
town, and had foolishly failed to consult a map. She was tired with her week's work and the long 
journey; the train was late, night was falling, the wind was getting up, and the rain beginning to 
skirmish. The canoe was loaded down within an inch of the gunwale. The wind blew dead in our 
teeth. The river began to roughen and the rain to come down more steadily. Our progress was 
tediously slow and the journey not without peril. At one point the stream is bayed out so that for 
something like a mile one is right out of reach of land. The slightest accident would have been 
critical. We hardly dared paddle with our full strength. We took something like five hours to reach 
the island using our utmost effort. It was after eleven o'clock when we beached the canoe. By this 
time the poor girl was drenched to the skin, completely exhausted and almost starving. Her 
femininity took advantage of the weariness of the besieging army to sally forth from the main gate. 
She wanted to curse God and die, and, presumably to get into training, cursed me. I could not 
comfort her. She threw herself on my couch and collapsed. I covered her with rugs and watched by 
her side all night. Refreshed by sleep, she was herself again when the sun struck the rocky ridge