I could send you the reviews of it." "Pray do not trouble yourself," he answered; "I do not doubt it in the least.

But there are hundreds of books published every season, and it is impossible for one head, even a publisher's, to retain all the titles and the names of the authors." "But I hope mine was not like hundreds of others," remarked Felicita.
"Every author hopes so," he said; "and besides the mass that is printed, somehow, at some one's expense, there are hundreds of manuscripts submitted to us.

Pardon me, but may I ask if you write for amusement or for remuneration." "For my living," she replied, with a sorrowful inflection of her voice which alarmed the publisher.

How often had he faced a widowed mother and her daughter, in mourning so deep as to suggest the recentness of their loss.

There was a slight movement of his hand, unperceived by either of them, and a brisk rap was heard on the door behind them.
"In a moment," he said, looking over their heads.