*Scarlett*
The following afternoon, I hold my breath as two strapping servant, one on either side, carry the writing machine down the stairs, five interminable flights. I climbed so many more last night. My pique at the number here is only because I fear they might drop my precious prototype and damage it.
I should find a way to make it lighter, to turn it into something that people could easily carry with them. Or at the very least, that one person could effortlessly manage. Following its journey to the ballroom where it will be set up for tomorrow night’s demonstration, I become lost in the possibilities. How a less cumbersome machine would increase its appeal. Writers, reporters, and chroniclers could ensure it is always near at hand, ready to be used when they have w
