The American James
It is not strange that I cannot recall my first meeting with Henry James, or for that matter the second or third or specifically any after meeting. It is so with every acquaintance, I suppose. All I can say is that we seemed presently to be always meeting, at his father’s house and at mine, but in the kind Cambridge streets rather than those kind Cambridge houses which it seems to me I frequented more than he. We seem to have been presently always together, and always talking of methods of fiction, whether we walked the streets by day or night, or we sat together reading our stuff to each other; his stuff which we both hoped might make itself into matter for the Atlantic Monthly, then mostly left to my editing by my senior editor Mr Fields.1
KeywordsMercury Editing Kerosene
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