1 It was easy to keep her secret, for no name appeared with her stories.
2 She took to writing sensation stories, for in those dark ages, even all-perfect America read rubbish.
3 Why, Jo, your stories are works of Shakespeare compared to half the rubbish that is published every day.
4 "Well, I've left two stories with a newspaperman, and he's to give his answer next week," whispered Jo, in her confidant's ear.
5 Mrs. March smiled and began at once, for she had told stories to this little audience for many years, and knew how to please them.
6 "I had a queer time with Aunt today, and, as I got the best of it, I'll tell you about it," began Jo, who dearly loved to tell stories.
7 So I let him have the two stories, and today this was sent to me, and Laurie caught me with it and insisted on seeing it, so I let him.
8 Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market, and encouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and fortune.
9 She took a fancy to Mademoiselle, and amused her very much with odd stories of her life in France, when Amy sat with her while she got up Madame's laces.
10 So Meg gave her the easy chair and tried to entertain her, while she asked questions, criticized everything, and told stories of the people whom she knew.
11 Eager to find material for stories, and bent on making them original in plot, if not masterly in execution, she searched newspapers for accidents, incidents, and crimes.
12 Kitty and Minnie Kirke likewise regard him with affection, and tell all sorts of stories about the plays he invents, the presents he brings, and the splendid tales he tells.
13 Many very respectable people make an honest living out of what are called sensation stories, said Jo, scratching gathers so energetically that a row of little slits followed her pin.
14 "Little Raphael," as her sisters called her, had a decided talent for drawing, and was never so happy as when copying flowers, designing fairies, or illustrating stories with queer specimens of art.
15 Having told how she disposed of her tales, Jo added, "And when I went to get my answer, the man said he liked them both, but didn't pay beginners, only let them print in his paper, and noticed the stories."
16 Jo remembered the kind old gentleman, who used to let her build railroads and bridges with his big dictionaries, tell her stories about queer pictures in his Latin books, and buy her cards of gingerbread whenever he met her in the street.
17 The evenings were the worst of all, for Aunt March fell to telling long stories about her youth, which were so unutterably dull that Amy was always ready to go to bed, intending to cry over her hard fate, but usually going to sleep before she had squeezed out more than a tear or two.
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