Editor. Besides, it will give the reader time for a sandwich.)
Robert got up and shook himself.
(Editor. One moment. This is a Christmas story. When are you coming to the robin?
Author. I really can't be bothered about robins just now. I assure you all the best Christmas stories begin like this nowadays. We may get to a robin later; I cannot say.
Editor. We must. My readers expect a robin, and they shall have it. And a wassail-bowl, and a turkey, and a Christmas-tree, and a——
Author. Yes, yes; but wait. We shall come to little Elsie soon, and then perhaps it will be all right.
Editor. Little Elsie. Good!)
Robert got up and shook himself. Then he shivered miserably, as the cold wind cut through him like a knife. For a moment he stood motionless, gazing over the stone parapet into the dark river beyond, and as he gazed a thought came into his mind. Why not end it all—here and now? He had nothing to live for. One swift plunge, and——
(Editor. You forget. The river was frozen.
Author. Dash it, I was just going to say that.)