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小妇人 | 34 朋友

2/20

She took to writing sensation stories, for in those dark ages, even all-perfect America read rubbish. She told no one, but concocted a "thrilling tale', and boldly carried it herself to Mr. Dashwood, editor of the Weekly Volcano. She had never read Sartor Resartus, but she had a womanly instinct that clothes possess an influence more powerful over many than the worth of character or the magic of manners. So she dressed herself in her best, and trying to persuade herself that she was neither excited nor nervous, bravely climbed two pairs of dark and dirty stairs to find herself in a disorderly room, a cloud of cigar smoke, and the presence of three gentlemen, sitting with their heels rather higher than their hats, which articles of dress none of them took the trouble to remove on her appearance. somewhat daunted by this reception, Jo hesitated on the threshold, murmuring in much embarrassment...

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"Excuse me, I was looking for the Weekly Volcano office. I wished to see Mr. Dashwood."

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"A friend of mine desired me to offer—a story—just as an experiment—would like your opinion—be glad to write more if this suits."

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"Not a first attempt, I take it?" observing that the pages were numbered, covered only on one side, and not tied up with a ribbon—sure sign of a novice.

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小妇人 | 34 朋友

2/20

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