笔下文学
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for twenty years i have been haunted by the dream that i might some day be my own publisher. i was waiting till i could afford the luxury; but many a man has put off a bold action till he died, so i am publishing this book without being able to afford it.

the reason is that i do not want to be a writer for the rich. i want to be read by working-boys and girls, and by poor students.

i offer the book at a low price. in the hope of tempting you to go out and get your friends to read it, i have made a price in quantities which will allow no profit at all. a margin has been figured to cover postage, stationery, circulars, and the cost of a clerical assistant; but nothing for interest on capital, which is a gift, nor for the rent of an office, which is my home, nor for the services of manager and press agent, which is myself.

you have read the book, and its fate is yours to decide. if it seems worth while, pass it on to someone else. if you can afford it, order a number of copies and give them away. if you can't afford it, give your time and be a book-agent.

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