Ir was two o'clock in the morning. The writer looked haggard and worn. For 24 hours, without a pause he had been working on his new novel.
"Darling."
said his wife, "are you coming to bed?"
"No" muttered the busy author. "I've got the pretty girl in the clutches of the villain and I want to get her out.'
"How old is the girl?" asked the wife.
"Twenty-two," replied the writer.
"Then put out the lights and get to bed," snapped the wife. "She's old enough to take care of herself."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.