In 1894 I saw a manuscript by a very well-known woman author lying — a new and purchased commodity — upon the table of a famous publisher. The publisher was a liberal in politics and religion; his catalogue, impressively comprehensive, almost declared him to be the patron of Thought, pure, unspecified, unadjectived. The publisher turned over the preliminary pages of the manuscript and read these words:
‘I’m not going to print that,’ he said, and a faithful pencil chained to his person pounced upon the offending dedication and slew it.
To Oscar Wilde, with admiration.
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© Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited 1979