[Softpear-devel] stationer's. The J pen to t

[Devaul B. <st...@vo...>]

 NOVEL I watched the little spurts of flame jet out from between the
writhing pages of my manuscript, watched the sheets coil up in their
fiery anguish and start one from another. I helped the fire to the very
vitals of the mass by poking the brittle heap, and at last the sacrifice
was over, the flames turned from pink to blue and died out, the red glow
gave place to black, little luminous red streaks coiled across the
charred sheets and vanished at the margins, and only the ashes of my
inspiration remained. The ink was a lustrous black on the dull blackness
of the burnt paper. I could still read this much of my indiscretion
remaining, "He smiled at them all and said nothing." "Fool!" I said, and
stirred the crackling mass into a featureless heap of black scraps. Then
with my chin on my fists and elbows on knees I stared at the end of my
labours. I suppose, after all, there has been some profit out of the
thing. Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do, and one may
well thank Heaven it was only a novel. Still, it means many days out of
my life, and I would be glad to find some positive benefit accruing.
Clearly, in the first place, I have eased my mind of some execrable
English. I am cleaner now by some dozen faulty phrases that I committed
and saw afterwards in all the nakedness of typewriting. (Thank Heaven
for typewriting! Were it not for that, this thing had gone to the
scoffing of some publisher's reader, and another had known my shame.)
And