The Only Sure Thing About Luck Is

Crude At First [the Short Story] Received A Literary Polish In The Press, But Its Dominant Quality Remained. It Was Concise And Condense, Yet Suggestive. It Was Delightfully Extravagant - Or A Miracle Of Understatement

Howbeit, Though No Scholar, I Am Not One Of Those Who Misuse The English Speech, And, Being Foolishly Led By The Hasty Custom Of Scriveners And Printers To Write The Letters "t" And "h" Joined Together, Which Resembleth A "y," Do Incontinently Jump To The Conclusion The The Is Pronounced "ye,"--the Like Of Which I Never Heard In All England.

Your Voices Break And Falter In The Darkness, Break, Falter, And Are Still.

There Is Peace In The Swamp, Though The Quiet Is Death

Besides Writing, I Have Been Teaching Myself To 'develop' My Own Photographic Plates, And I Haven't A Stick Of Clothing Or An Exposed Finger That Isn't Stained. I Sit For Hours In A Dark-room Feeling As If I Were A Very Elderly Faust At Some Dreadful Incantation, And Come Out Of It, Blinding At The Light, Like A Bastille Prisoner. And Yet I Am Not Successful!