Clem. What?
Marg. [tenderly]. Clement, I must tell you all.
Clem. What is it?
Marg. It is not past; I haven't given up my writing.
Clem. Why?
Marg. I'm still going on with my writing, or, rather, I've finished writing another book. Yes, the impulse is stronger than most people realize. I really believe I should have gone to pieces if it hadn't been for my writing.
Clem. What have you written now?
Marg. A novel. The weight was too heavy to be borne. It might have dragged me down—down. Until to-day, I tried to hide it from you, but it had to come out at last. Künigel is immensely taken with it.
Clem. Who's Künigel?
Marg. My publisher.