Well, it wasn't actually bad--by Jove! you should have seen some
of the things I have been asked to recommend to publishers! It
wasn't hopelessly bad by any means, and I gave serious thought to
it. After exchange of several letters I asked the authoress to
come and see me, that we might save postage stamps and talk
things over. She hadn't given me her address: I had to direct to
a stationer's in Bayswater. She agreed to come, and did come. I
had formed a sort of idea, but of course I was quite wrong.
Imagine my excitement when there came in a very beautiful girl, a
tremendously interesting girl, about one-and-twenty--just the
kind of girl that most strongly appeals to me; dark, pale, rather
consumptive-looking, slender--no, there's no describing her;
there really isn't! You must wait till you see her.'
'I hope the consumption was only a figure of speech,' remarked
Biffen in his grave way.
'Oh, there's nothing serious the matter, I think. A slight cough,
poor girl.'
'The deuce!' interjected Reardon.
'Oh, nothing, nothing! It'll be all right. Well, now, of course
we talked over the story--in good earnest, you know.
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