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Chapter 7

           "Wrong?Ohno,surelynot!Whatcantherebewrongaboutyou,Tempest?Areyounotoneoftherichestmenliving?"

           Iletthesatirepass.

           "Listen,myfriend,"Isaidearnestly"YouknowIhavebeenbusyforthelastfortnightcorrectingtheproofsofmybookforthepressdoyounot?"

           Henoddedwithasmilingair.

           "WellIhavearrivedalmostattheendofmyworkandIhavecometotheconclusionthatthebookisnotMeitisnotareflexofmyfeelingsatallandIcannotunderstandhowIcametowriteit."

           "Youfinditstupidperhaps?"saidLuciosympathetically.

           "No,"Iansweredwithatouchofindignation"Idonotfinditstupid."

           "Dullthen?"

           "Noitisnotdull."

           "Melodramatic?"

           "Nonotmelodramatic."

           "Well,mygoodfellow,ifitisnotdullorstupidormelodramatic,whatisit!"heexclaimedmerrily"Itmustbesomething!"

           "Yesitisthisitisbeyondmealtogether."AndIspokewithsomebitterness."Quitebeyondme.IcouldnotwriteitnowIwonderIcouldwriteitthen.Lucio,IdaresayIamtalkingfoolishlybutitseemstomeImusthavebeenonsomehigheraltitudeofthoughtwhenIwrotethebookaheightfromwhichIhavesincefallen."

           "I’msorrytohearthis,"heanswered,withtwinklingeyes"Fromwhatyousayitappearstomeyouhavebeenguiltyofliterarysublimity.Ohbad,verybad!Nothingcanbeworse.Towritesublimelyisagrievoussin,andonewhichcriticsneverforgive.

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