"
"What, sir?"
"Neglecting to send sheets to correct."
"Anan?" said Verty, who did not understand.
"I mean that I have not had an opportunity to correct the printed
verses, sir; and that I complain of."
Verty nodded.
"Mark me," said Roundjacket; "the publisher, editor, or reviewer who
does not send sheets to the author for correction, will inevitably
perish, in the end, from the tortures of remorse!"
"Ah?" said Verty.
"Yes, sir! the pangs of a guilty conscience will not suffer him to
sleep; and death only will end his miserable existence."
Which certainly had the air of an undoubted truth.
"See!" said Mr. Roundjacket, relapsing into the pathetic--"see how
my unfortunate offspring has been mangled--maimed--a statutory
offence--mayhem!--see Bacon's Abridgment, page ----; but I wander.
See," continued Roundjacket, "that is all that is left of the
original."
"Yes, sir," said Verty.
"The very first line is unrecognizable."
And Roundjacket put his handkerchief to his eyes and sniffled.
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