The Millions tests a few writers by picking one sentence—top of page forty—and seeing what it tells us about the writer's prose.
An on-looker, Irene reflected, would have thought it a most congenial tea-party, all smiles and jokes and hilarious laughter.
All the women in Sam’s life italicized things.
“We ain’t got nothin’ but pullet eggs,” he said, fishing up another handful of beans.