security that might have provided somenbalance in her crazily tilted world.nDespite Scott Fitzgerald's deeply rootednpsychological maladies, he presents anportrait of mental hygiene when comparednto Jane Bowles. Mercifully, MillicentnDillon veers away from the allurementsnof psychobiography; still, onendoes not need to truck out Freud, Jungnand their epigones to recognize a . . .