text: A letter to his editor at Grove I cant possibly go on as a responsible prose artist and also as a believer in the impulses of my own heart and in the beauty of pure spontaneous language if I let editors take my sentences , which are my phrases that I separate by dashes when I ' draw a breath , ' each of which pours out to the tune of the whole story its own rhythmic yawp of expostulation , and riddle them with commas , cut them in half , in threes , in fours , ruining the swing ...
  
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  Editors ruin my work completely , rendering it pointless .