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turn in a manuscript without having Lenore Hornblow read it,
and many other writers turn to her instinctively. John
Gunther, who was madly in love with her, won't let his publisher
have a book unless Bubbles says, “It's all right.
You can turn it in now.” She's a wonderful woman.
Her husband, Arthur Hornblow, is a most successful
Hollywood producer and considerably older than Bubbles. I
still remember when both he and John Gunther were wooing
Bubbles. She would sit at our house, agonizing over which
one to marry. We thought that Arthur was better for her
than John though we loved them both; but Arthur is solider
and I think that John can be a bloody bore too because he
never stops talking and still persists in dropping names.
He still adores Clare Boothe Luce. That will give you a rough
idea. But he's a good, true friend and a superb reporter,
and, as I say, still wouldn't make a move without Bubble's
okay. She married Arthur in our house. They have become
our closest friends.
The six of us went away together all of the time. It
was a case where everybody loved everybody else. It always
was just about perfect.
Anyway, enough of that! Let's move on to Truman
Capote. The first person that called my attention to Capote
was Robert Lynscott, an editor of ours who I had met when I
was selling books in Boston. He was a top editor at Houghton
Mifflin. We became friends, and I tried for years to lure
him down to New York and finally succeeded. He was with us
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