“She says this place is full of copy.”
“Full of what?”
“That’s what you make books with.”
“Oh, my dear, this is worse than I expected! A strange girl is always a bore among good friends, but one can generally manage her. But a girl who writes books—why, it isn’t respectable! And you can’t snub that sort of people; they’re unsnubbable.”
“Oh, but we’ll try!” I cried, with such heartiness that we both laughed.
The hall and the library struck Minora most; indeed, she lingered so long after dinner in the hall, which is cold, that the Man of Wrath put on his fur coat by way of a gentle hint. His hints are always gentle.
She wanted to hear the whole story about the chapel and the nuns and Gustavus Adolphus, and pulling out a fat note-book began to take down what I said. I at once relapsed into silence.
“Well?” she said.
“That’s all.”
“Oh, but you’ve only just begun.”