I know this much, is all, " Franny said. " If you're a poet, you do something...

I know this much, is all, " Franny said. " If you're a poet, you do something beautiful. I mean, you're supposed to leave something beautiful after you get off the page and everything. The ones you're talking about don't leave a single, solitary thing beautiful. All that maybe the slightly better ones do is sort of get inside your head and leave something there, but just because they do, just because they know how to leave something, it doesn't have to be a poem, for heaven's sake. It may just be some king of terribly fascinating, syntaxy droppings-excuse the expression. Like Manlius and Esposito and all those poor men." Lane took time to light a cigarette for himself before he said anything. "I thought you liked Manlius. As a matter of fact, about a month ago, if I remember correctly, you said he was darling, and that you-"
"I do like him. I'm sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet somebody I could respect…would you excuse me for just a minute?" Franny was suddenly on her feet, with her handbag in her hand. She was very pale.