I do it all at night."
"But isn't that very wearing?"
"Of course. I am often a total wreck for months after finishing a book."
"Where do you do your writing?"
For a moment, Cicely hesitated between the rival charms of the front
steps and the attic. Then she replied,--
"In the kitchen."
"The--kitchen!" For an instant, the man was thrown from his
professional calm.
"Yes. I put my little kettle of tea to draw on the hob--"
"The--what?"
"The hob," Cicely said severely; "and when I am tired of writing, I
refresh myself with a cup of Flowery Pekoe and a biscuit, and then I
return to my pen once more."
"How much do you usually accomplish in a night?"
"Four thousand, five hundred words is my usual limit."
"And do your never write during the day?"
"Never. My thoughts only arise by candle-light."
At this poetic outburst, the interviewer glanced up and privately
registered the belief that Mrs. Farrington was slightly cracked.
"I always sleep till noon," Cicely reassured him. "Is there anything else
I can do for you?"
"No, thank you. I think not. This will make a very interesting and
acceptable article, I am sure. But, before I go, would you mind telling
me what you think of Browning?"
"The greatest poet of the century," Cicely replied glibly, mindful of
local prejudice.
"And your favorite poem?" he asked insinuatingly.
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