CHAPTER XIII
(1)
The Archdeacon spent the afternoon at his desk, making copy after copy of his proposed letter to the newspapers. As he worked he whistled, for he was very happy. "To-morrow," he kept telling himself, "I shall wake up to find myself famous; that is to say, if I can only go on sleeping until the first editions of the evening newspapers are out. The reporters ought to be round here by eleven at latest. I'd better arrange for a spread of cocktails and sandwiches in the dining-room. Cigars also. An author should neglect nothing that can help him to a good Press. When
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