"Why did you write that kind of a book?"
There was earnest condemnation in her voice. To gain time, I asked.
"You don't like it?"
"Of course not. It's insincere."
I filled my pipe before I took up the challenge.
"You'll have to make your bill of indictment more detailed. What's insincere about it?"
"You know as well as I do."
Never in any of our talks did she give me so vivid an impression of earnestness. With a sudden twist she sat up and faced me.
"It's cynical. There are two parts to the book—exposition and conclusions. The conclusions are pitiable. You suggest a program of reforms in the judicial and penal system. And they are petty—if they were all accepted, it wouldn't solve the problem of crime. You imply one of two things, either that these reforms would solve the problem, which they wouldn't, or that the problem is insoluble, which it isn't."
"Count one," I said. "Pleading deferred."