He wrote constantly, but as yet had only
succeeded in getting two articles printed. Then, it was a necessity
of his existence to mix from time to time in the life of the town,
and a stroll into the Strand after nightfall inevitably led to the
expenditure of whatever cash his pocket contained. He was
passionately found of the theatre; the lights about the open
entrance drew him on irresistibly, and if, as so often, he had to
choose between a meal and a seat in the gallery, the meal was
sacrificed. Hunger, indeed, was his normal state; semi-starvation,
alternating with surfeits of cheap and unwholesome food, brought
about an unhealthy condition of body. Often he returned to Walcot
Square from his day-long drudgery, and threw himself upon the bed,
too exhausted to light a fire and make his tea,--for he was his
own servant in all things except the weekly cleaning-out of the
room. Those were dark hours, and they had to be struggled through in
solitude.
Weary as he was he seldom went to bed before midnight, sometimes
long after, for he clung to those few hours of freedom with
something like savage obstinacy; during this small portion of each
day at least, he would possess his own soul, be free to think and
read.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130