"Yes."
"Will you kindly explain?"
"It will be difficult, but I'll try."
She settled herself in her chair more comfortably.
"It appears to me that women, dear Marguerite, write books from several motives, the principal being that, unknown to herself, a woman will get rid in this way of her own self-consciousness. It is hard on the public; it is a blessing in disguise to her friends."
"Nanty!"
"I don't say you are of that sort. Why, I believe the child's eyes are actually full of tears!" she added in consternation.
"Go on," I said.
"But you're going to be hurt."
I shook my head.