Read it through once

To her father she wrote: “I wish to heaven anybody would give me some money! If I get none for _Blanch_, I shall give up the trade in despair. I must write _Blanch_—at least, begin to write it, soon. I wish you could beg, borrow, or steal (anything but buy) Southey’s _Chronicle of the Cid_, and bring it down for me.”... A week or so later she wrote: “I have now seven hundred lines written; can you sound any of the booksellers respecting it? I can promise that it shall be a far superior poem to _Christina_, and I think I can finish it by November. We ought to get something by it. It will have the advantage of a very interesting story, and a much greater variety of incident and character. I only hope it may be productive.”