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 lishing house to be at least interested in some form of literary expression."

"You should worry! That's what we hires you for. Besides he has a literary passion, too—Walt Mason. He thinks Walt is the greatest poet in the world."

"Walter Mason?" murmured Lester. "I don't think I know his work."

"Hasn't Walt made Oxford yet?" asked Miss Denver. "He writes the prose poems in the evening papers, syndicate stuff, you know. Printed to look like prose, just the opposite of the free-verse gag." She smiled reminiscently, and quoted:

"Is there any free-verse stuff that can cover that?" she asked.

Lester was somewhat disconcerted. His assessment of Female Mind did not seem to be proceeding methodically. He played for time.

"I thought you enjoyed the Oblique?"

"As a joke, yes: I laugh myself giddy over it. But I know darn well that kind of junk won't last.