Murray's beginning. It is very good,--any one will
admit it,--fascinatingly clever, but it lacks heart.
It runs:
If two magnitudes, one of which is determined by a straight
line and the other by a parabola approach one another,
the rectangle included by the revolution of each will be
equal to the sum of a series of indeterminate rectangles.
Now this is,--quite frankly,--dull. The situation is
there; the idea is good, and, whether one agrees or not,
is at least as brilliantly original as even the best of
our recent novels. But I find it necessary to alter the
presentation of the plot a little bit. As I re-edit it
the opening of the Calculus runs thus:
On a bright morning in June along a path gay with the
opening efflorescence of the hibiscus and entangled here
and there with the wild blossoms of the convolvulus,--two
magnitudes might have been seen approaching one another.
The one magnitude who held a tennis-racket in his hand,
carried himself with a beautiful erectness and moved
with a firmness such as would have led Professor Murray
to exclaim in despair--Let it be granted that A.
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