"Miss Hartill will bless you. She said last time that you thought ink and ideas were synonyms."
"Agatha only writes three words to a line anyway."
They liked her, but she was of the type whose imperiousness provokes snubs.
"Well, I thought I shouldn't get it done under forty—an essay on The Dark Tower. It's the beastliest yet. The Ancient Mariner was nothing to it. I've made an awful hash—didn't you?"
"I understood all right when she read it, and explained. It's so absurd not to let one take notes. I've been years at it. Fortunately she said we needn't learn it—Louise and I—with all our extra work." An unimaginative hockey captain fluttered her pages distractedly.
"Oh, but I have!" Louise looked up quickly.
"Why?" The hockey captain opened her eyes and mouth.
"Oh, I rather wanted to."
The little Jewess giggled.
"'Déjà?'" she murmured. She did not love Clare.