'Writing is an honourable occupation, Gene. How else do you think we get books in the first place?' Honestly.

A real copper, she thinks. That's about as close a compliment as she could ever expect from him, so she'll take it. (She doesn't want to talk about Keats right now. Tomorrow will be soon enough.)

Again, she glances across at his page. 'You're almost done?'

That was quick.