"Couldn't evolve a single new idea with which to enliven the gay annals of English literature and Greek history.
A personal history seems infinitely more insistent and unusual.

I ran away from my lessons, and my work, and came to you, Peter, because I had a feeling that there was something you could give me, and I thought you would." Peter smiled a slow curious smile.
"I like your line of thought, Linda," he said quietly.

"It greatly appeals to me.

Any time an ancient and patriarchal literary man named Peter Morrison can serve as a rock upon which a young thing can rest, why he'll be glad to be that rock." "What were you doing ?" asked Linda abruptly.
"Come and see," said Peter.
He led the way to the garage.

His worktable and the cement floor around it were littered with sheets of closely typed paper.
"I'll have to assemble them first," said Peter, getting down on his knees and beginning to pick them up.
Linda sat on a packing case and watched him.