Before me lay London and the dull
glare of its lights. There was no distinct noise perceptible; but a
deadened roar came up to me. Over in the south-west was the house
of the friend I had left, always a warm home for me when I was in
town. Then there fell upon me what was the beginning of a trouble
which has lasted all my life. The next afternoon I went to the
proprietor and told him I could not stay. He was greatly amazed,
and still more so because I could give him no reason for leaving.
He protested very reasonably that I could not break my engagement at
the beginning of term, but he gave me permission to look for a
substitute. I found a Scotch graduate who, like myself, had been
accused of heresy, and had nothing to do. He came the same day, and
I went back to --- Terrace, somewhere out by Haverstock Hill. I
forget its name; it was a dull row of stuccoed ugliness. But to me
that day Grasmere, the Quantocks, or the Cornish sea-coast would
have been nothing compared with that stucco line. When I knocked at
the door the horrible choking fog had rolled away: I rushed inside;
there was a hearty embrace, and the sun shone gloriously. Still, I
had nothing to do.
At this point I had intended to stop. A good part of my life
henceforward has appeared under disguise in one of my books, but I
think on reconsideration it will be better to record here also what
little remains to be told about myself, and to narrate it as
history.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60