How many instances of "e" are there in:
So, there we are in Chapter 37. Note the name of Juliette's new boyfriend---Romeo. Romeo's sugar daddy Roper has just been found dead with a kinky dog collar around his neck, and there is more trouble on the horizon.
“Act Two,” Alex says, and fumbles in the pockets of his shorts. Alex always seems to carry a medication bottle lately, and now he unscrews it and hands a pill to Juliette.
“This will do,” he says.
“Oh my God, the pill,” Juliette says.
“The pace quickens in the second part of the play, doesn’t it?” Alex says.
This is, or was, the wrong thing to do-—Juliette hands the pill back to Alex, eyes moist. 
He departs for the bathroom and returns with a glass of water. “Trust me,” he repeats, and hands the glass to Juliette—if he ever put on a silent show of α-power it’s now. We’re so blessed in this soap with three people of real charisma, Alex, Ben, and Romeo, each in his own way, and Juliette swallows the pill.
“This, this is Act Four,” he says.
Juliette’s head has tilted, and a few seconds later her upper body—in an eerie rerun of Roper’s post-mortem performance—-slides onto the sheets.
Alex stoops and flips Juliette’s eyelids with his professional touch.
I call Barbette.
You found Juliette? Has she taken her pill?
“Has Juliette taken her pill?” I relay to Alex.
“Juliette has taken her pill,” I say.
You found Juliette? How? Where?
“Tell her she’s needed,” Alex interjects.
“You are needed,” I say to the phone.
She’s coming. Two minutes.
Alex checks Juliette’s eyelids anew. “I need a handkerchief,” he says. I hand him a Kleenex from the night stand. No, he needs a real handkerchief.
“Nobody owns handkerchiefs anymore,” I say.
Right. Didn’t she used a handkerchief to wipe her tears—-it’s possibly in her jeans pocket? I don’t feel at ease fondling the loins of unconscious teenagers of the opposite sex, but hand the result to Alex nonetheless.
Why can’t he try to find a handkerchief himself—-I hand him another Kleenex. No-no, he needs a real handkerchief.
“What if we can’t find one?” I ask.
He flips the cell phone, swipes. “Amy-Lou,” he says, “did you get my message?” There’s some back-and-forth between the cell phone and Alex—-Alex prevails and ends the conversation.
He’s back studying the Atlantic Ocean and the fat cloud out there which has been replaced by a new one that hasn’t experienced his ire yet and issues a clean, fearless cloud-fart. We’re back to square one except that Juliette looks very much like a corpse.
We picked up two friends from Korea, at the airpor...

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I counted two hundred and eighty-six "e"s in that text.
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