And

“And,” she said.

“And what?” he said.

“And I was just thinking.”

“And about?”

“And nothing.”

“And do tell.”

“And what about starting a sentence with 'and'.”

“And you should never do that.” And a bad tempered scowl crossed his face. “And it's disgraceful. And the best writers never do it; and never and ever.”

And she took one step backwards. “And I though it was not so much frowned upon these days.”

“And the old ways are best.”

“And what about when you have a really, really long sentence, that sprawls about all over the place; and just meanders this way and that; and going nowhere; and seems to go on for ever; and ever and ever; and would just be so confusing for the reader?”

“And you should always rewrite it.” And now the scowl seemed to affect his entire body.

And she muttered, almost under her breath: “And why not just throw in a full stop and an 'and'.”

And he shouted: “And that would be lazy, lazy, lazy.”

And she shouted back: “And what about other words: like 'but', or 'however', or, what's what word, 'also', yes, 'also' that's it? And can you start a sentence with them.”

“And that would also be lazy.” And he shook his head in exasperation.

“And are you sure?”

“And you've gotten it wrong. And so wrong.”

“And I should not do it?”

“And I never do it.”

“And I'll try.”

“And.”

“And.”

“And.” And he walked off in a huff.

And she muttered after him: “And, and, and.”