|
The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton by Edith Wharton: room was gradually filled with drifting blue layers of smoke, and
through them the editor's face came and went like the moon
through a moving sky. Once the hour struck--then the rhythmical
ticking began again. The atmosphere grew denser and heavier, and
beads of perspiration began to roll from Granice's forehead.
"Do you mind if I open the window?"
"No. It IS stuffy in here. Wait--I'll do it myself." Denver
pushed down the upper sash, and returned to his chair. "Well--go
on," he said, filling another pipe. His composure exasperated
Granice.
"There's no use in my going on if you don't believe me."
| 
