I have seen attributed to Stevenson, that everything depends
upon the order of the words; and this, in my judgment, should make the
sentence as nearly as possible independent of punctuation.

Further, there are many awkwardnesses of expression which proper
training or subsequent practice can eliminate; and in proportion as a
writer attains the faculty of instinctively avoiding these, his
technique improves. Perfected, he would never use them, and his
sentences would flow untaught from his pen in absolutely clear
reflection of his thought. As an example of what I mean by
awkwardnesses, I would cite the use of "whose" as the possessive of
"which." I know that adequate authority pronounces this correct, so it
is not on that score I reject it. Moreover, I recognize that in myself
the repulsion is somewhat of an acquired taste. When I began to write
I thus employed it myself, but its sound is so inevitably suggestive
of "who" as to constitute an impertinence of association. I have
lately been reading a very excellent history of the United States, in
which the frequent repetition of "whose" in this sense causes me the
sensation of perpetually "stubbing" my toe; an Americanism, which, I
will explain to any British reader, means stumbling over roots or on
an unequal pavement, the irritation of which needs not exposition.

In the matter of natural style I soon discovered that the besetting
anxiety of my soul was to be exact and lucid. I might not succeed, but
my wish was indisputable. To be accurate in facts and correct in
conclusions, both as to appreciation and expression, dominated all
other motives. This had a weak side. I was nervously susceptible to
being convicted of a mistake; it upset me, as they say. Even where a
man writes, this is a defect of a quality; in active life it entails
slowness of decision and procrastination, failure "to get there." I
have no doubt that much contemporary writing suffers delay from a like
morbid dread as to possibility of error. The aim to be thus both
accurate and clear often encumbered my sentences. My cautious mind
strove to introduce between the same two periods every qualification,
whether in abatement or enforcement of the leading idea or statement.
This in many cases meant an accumulation of clauses, over which I
exercised my ingenuity and lavished my time so to arrange them that
the whole should be at once apprehended by the reader. It was not
enough for me that the qualifications