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232 these she flounders awkwardly, and especially when she describes the Poorer Classes. Lacking a broad scope, she could find salvation in technical variety, but in her second volume she seems to strive for that no longer.

To read her first book was to make a voyage of adventure, or maybe even to open Chapman's Homer. She had borrowed a little from her English contemporaries, but not enough so that one could identify her sources. She had borrowed a great deal from Chekhov, but her characters were other and more familiar. In general the stories were her own experiments and successful experiments; that is why it was exhilarating to read them. One did not quite know what she would write next The Garden Party has answered that question. It is almost as good as Bliss, but not much different; from Katherine Mansfield it is immensely disappointing.