“If genius is going to pour forth in print, someone has to pay for it, and I don’t see why I should be out of pocket so that the world can read the lines I have penned by the sweat of my brow.”
“What’s the price?” Daphne inquired.
“Half a crown—it’s a gift, the poem alone, not to mention a woodcut by Jopling.”
“But no one will buy it. You know that nobody buys new books in Oxford. They’ll go to Blackwell’s and read it there.”
Ah, good old Blackwell's. LoL.
So, far the story is just getting sillier and sillier, all because the girls are such idiots.