"I don't like it."
"Why do you write what you don't like?" said Edith, fixing her sharp eyes on her new friend's face.
"One does all sorts of things perhaps without reason; one writes as one is impelled," said Florence.
Edith went up to her, and after a brief argument possessed herself of the long slip of proof she was holding in her hand.
"I am going to read it now," she said; "I always said you were neurotic: even your talents tend in that direction. Oh, good gracious! what an extraordinary opening sentence! You are a queer girl!"
Edith read on to the end. She then handed the paper back to Florence.
"What do you think of it?" said Florence, noticing that she was silent.
"I hate it."
"I thought you would. Oh. Edith, I am glad!"
"What do you mean by that?"