Indeed, we shall not be able to; we shall have nothing more to write.

This work will partake of the nature of an intellectual clearance sale.

We are going to put into this novel simply all we know." Ethelbertha shut her lips, and said something inside; and then remarked aloud that she supposed it would be a one volume affair.
I felt hurt at the implied sneer.

I pointed out to her that there already existed a numerous body of specially-trained men employed to do nothing else but make disagreeable observations upon authors and their works--a duty that, so far as I could judge, they seemed capable of performing without any amateur assistance whatever.

And I hinted that, by his own fireside, a literary man looked to breathe a more sympathetic atmosphere.
Ethelbertha replied that of course I knew what she meant.