Capitolo 44
takes this when you/he/she is ended, and you know what wants to say this; it
it will make Your reputation, and--"
"Ah, but you see, these are only fragments", he said, sadly, regaining
his/her calm. "Supposes me I properly am not never able to plot them in the
plot? You cannot know how sometimes discouraged I am me."
"Won't it allow me to send them?" I eagerly asked. "It is rather true that
they is only fragments, but nobody could write such things and then
fails some success in to elaborate; it is impossible. Comes, I/you/he/she allow us to go, it is
almost supper-time", I followed, while not giving him time to speak, as I started
gathering on the books and carpets. "No, you don't speak of my book; it is
on. It was only a the desire of mine. I would have had to know that I was not able
really writes, and clearly came to me this morning--so clearly! If You
it will allow me to be godmother to the Your, that it will be a small consolation", me
motto laughing, and now having his/her approval to send his/her MSS. to Mr. ----,
I expedited him back, while gaily speaking of indifferent themes, and
avoiding the tender, interrogatory eyes that have looked for mine really.
What bitterness there was in the realization that I miserably had
it failed, that my novel was stupid and missed the elements of interest me,
you/he/she cannot deny. Because I had not seen before entirely him, I can never understand,
but this morning, as I compared him/it with the bright and strange play
of desire that has characterized the job of the Mr. Longworth, I acutely felt him/it and
conclusively. Of long times in the afternoon I spent alone that day with mine
manuscript, I learned to calmly face the fact that I have to go up again to
job of newspaper without the footprint of a hope that me I should ever write a
legible novel. What wanted to tell me to reach this conclusion anybody
understands who has not had the same hopes and the same fall,
still through those times in the small one it white-washed bed-room with the,
branches of locust that furnish against the window, the memory that me valiantly