Here's a book that frankly stumps me. I didn't like it. I thought it was too long. I wasn't convinced that it was fact. And yet I read it to the end and am eager for other people to read it so that I can talk it over with them. If the public gets the same you, perhaps it will catch hold. Anyhow, it is not negligible. It's something in the nature of a literary curiosity. It's certainly unique among autobiographies. A ""nymph errant"" -- reared in a parsonage and inheriting the taint of insanity which sent her father and a brother and sister to sanitariums, which brought suicide to one and erratic maladjustment to another. She herself was in and out of institutions, up and down the scale of physical disabilities with a mental base, tasting here and there of emotion but rarely drinking deeply, serving her country in France, accepting what was offered her by ""rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief"" -- by drunkard, sailor, chauffeur, traveling salesman, waiter and so on. A governess in Corsica, waitress, cook, maid of all work, in England and elsewhere; sleeping now in luxury, now under a hedgerow or on the Thames Embankment; never able to hold a job, but never at a loss for emergency expedients. It's a mad story. Read it and see.