Surely no one writes lovelier stories, yielding a purer pleasure than John Steinbeck. Here are tragedy and suffering and violence, to be sure, but with all that is sharp and harsh distilled to a golden honey, ripe and mellow. Even cruelty and murder grow somehow pastoral and idyllic, seen through this amber light, as one might watch the struggles of fish and water snakes in the depths of a mountain pool. Beyond question, Steinbeck has a magic to take the sting out of reality and yet leave it all there except the sting. Perhaps it is partly the carefulness of his art, with endless pains devising and arranging every detail until all fits perfectly and smooth as polished ivory. But probably it is more the enchantment of his style, of that liquid melody which flows on and on.

Q. Underline the first sentence which supports the answer to question No. 1.