Digital heart book

"HE MEANS TO DO BETTER."
In the body of the text, besides, my eye caught, as it
passed, some deadly expressions: "Figure somewhat
fleshy," "bright, intellectual smile," "the
unconsciousness of genius," "'Now, Mr. Dodd,' resumed
the reporter, 'what would be your idea of a
distinctively American quality in sculpture?'" It was
true the question had been asked; it was true, alas!
that I had answered: and now here was my reply, or some
strange hash of it, gibbeted in the cold publicity of
type. I thanked God that my French fellow-students
were ignorant of English; but when I thought of the
British--of Myner (for instance) or the Stennises--I
think I could have fallen on Pinkerton and beat him.
To divert my thoughts (if it were possible) from this
calamity, I turned to a letter from my father which had
arrived by the same post. The envelope contained a
strip of newspaper cutting; and my eye caught again,
"Son of Millionaire Dodd--Figure somewhat fleshy," and
the rest of the degrading nonsense.


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