Miss Betty Prashker,
Senior Editor,
Coward-McCann, Inc.,
200 Madison Ave.,
New York City

Dear Betty Prashker:

    I don't know whether this sort of intercourse between a Senior Girl Editor and a Boy Writer is permissible but I must write. Forgive me.

    You hit like Muhammad Ben Liston was supposed to but somehow I'm not mad at you. Let's say you cut me to the quick but I deserve to go around with a cut quick. I asked for it. I knew this little book -- a product of eight wild 'round-the-clock weekends, even including the weekend when the beautiful young President was killed -- never should have been read by anyone. I knew I should have done it right in the first place, because it happens to be very important to me at this moment to turn to the novel or bust. It is a very large hang-up. I have to make it. I know this is not a matter for you to brood about but I feel I have say to it to you. Maybe it's because I'm more ashamed than hurt.

    And maybe I ought to toss the whole thing in the fireplace and go on to what my friend Papa called the Big One but I'm not going to do that. I don't want a TKO on my record.

    Anyway, I'm grateful to you. I suppose that accounts for this note.

                                  Best,

                                  PAUL SANN