Answer:
hi!
Explanation:
This is only a part of this! I can't put all the info because it exceeds the word limit
Nothing in the world affords a newspaper reporter so much happiness (from meeting a need or reaching a goal) as gathering up the details of a bloody and mysterious murder and writing them up with (irritating/making worse) (strongly hinting guilt, but not proving it)ity. He takes a living delight in this labor of love—for such it is to him, especially if he knows that all the other papers have gone to press, and his will be the only one that will contain the terrible intelligence. A feeling of regret has often come over me that I was not reporting in Rome when Caesar was killed—reporting on an evening paper, and the only one in the city, and getting at least twelve hours ahead of the morning-paper boys with this most beautiful "item" that ever fell to the lot of the craft. Other events have happened as very surprising as this, but none that possessed so weirdly all the (features/ qualities/ traits) of the favorite "item" of the present day, magnified into grand beauty and greatness by the high rank, fame, and social and political standing of the actors in it.
