"'/Hello/'", 'Sweetstuff', he / said /, ((trying)) to # sound # (gay) /....
Malloy looked up blankly. "What are all the cockeyed punctuation marks doing in there?" he asked.
Amery exhaled Havana smoke expansively. "That's the way things are now, Michael. Those punctuation marks indicate whether the protagonist's thoughts are self-directed or Rider-directed, or a combination of both, and which is dominant at the time, human or Rider. They became absolutely essential with the coming of the Riders."
Malloy covered his lips with his fingers. "Of course, I don't understand this punctuation now. But I could learn it quickly enough."
The publisher shook his massive head. "No, you couldn't learn it. You don't have a Rider. You could never understand all the little subtleties."
"I could fake it."
"Never. It might get past the average reader, but the author and critics would know right away. All an editor can do is watch for typographical errors and change them the way the author wanted them if his fingers hadn't tripped over the wrong keys. As it was, we used to get a good many complaints from writers about you making changes in their work."
"Grammar," Malloy explained. "I got kind of a bug about grammar. I used to fix up manuscripts some."
Rubbing out his fat cigar, Amery leaned across his desk. "This isn't like the good old days when I started out, Mike. If I had my way today, I'd get the National Guard ordered out and have those miserable slobs grind out stories with a bayonet at their backs!" The red gleam dimmed in Amery's eyes. "Those were the days, by God! Back then you didn't edit manuscripts with any dinky little blue pencil—you used a razor blade and a grease stick!"