"Blast them!" the writer groaned in bitter accents. "How I hate those B. E. M's.!" The artist and the writer sat staring at each other in wordless misery, their coffee untasted and their spirits at low ebb. Up above, in the beehive that was the publishing house which gave them their livelihood, the word had gone around. _B. E. M'S, B. E. M'S...._…
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