why cant my hands be

Lenore had already formed many opinions of the people whom Edgar had invited to the dinner party. Hemingway was brash and rude, maybe a good writer but certainly not good company. Brontë was posh and dainty, someone who spoke rather than acted. Dostoyevsky was quiet and introspective, someone more poetic than straightforward. Eliot (or, Mary Ann) was clearly trying to remain inconspicuous as a female writer in a room with at least two other female writers. Honestly, what?Lenore thought she knew what to think of HG Wells. He was shy, and brilliant, and probably overwhelmed. She thought that was everything to know about the inventor. It was not.//or, Lenore's POV of 'Why Are my Hands Shaking' by dylbobaggins