I cannot control my story at all,
nor can I perceive in what given direction she will go. If I could,
I could arrange my scenario to suit, but as it is, I cannot go on.
It may come later, but it won't come now, and I'm going to give her
up, and go down to Barnegat to fish for ten days. I hate to give the
book up, though," he added, tapping the table with his pen-holder
reflectively. "Chadwick's an awfully good fellow, and his firm is
one of the best in the country, liberal and all that, and here at my
first opportunity to get on their list, I'm completely floored. It's
beastly hard luck, I think."
"Don't be floored," said I. "Take my advice and tackle something
else. Write some other book."
"That's the devil of it!" he replied, angrily pounding the table with
his fist. "I can't. I've tried, and I can't. My mind is full of
that woman. If I don't get rid of her I'm ruined--I'll have to get a
position as a salesman somewhere, or starve, for until she is caught
between good stiff board covers I can't write another line.
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