But I could see he didn't like to take as much as he
wanted. I don't think of him with so much pity as I used that's a
result of suffering oneself.'
Amy set her lips and sighed.
CHAPTER XI. RESPITE
The last volume was written in fourteen days. In this achievement
Reardon rose almost to heroic pitch, for he had much to contend
with beyond the mere labour of composition. Scarcely had he begun
when a sharp attack of lumbago fell upon him; for two or three
days it was torture to support himself at the desk, and he moved
about like a cripple. Upon this ensued headaches, sore-throat,
general enfeeblement. And before the end of the fortnight it was
necessary to think of raising another small sum of money; he took
his watch to the pawnbroker's (you can imagine that it would not
stand as security for much), and sold a few more books. All this
notwithstanding, here was the novel at length finished. When he
had written 'The End' he lay back, closed his eyes, and let time
pass in blankness for a quarter of an hour.
It remained to determine the title. But his brain refused another
effort; after a few minutes' feeble search he simply took the
name of the chief female character, Margaret Home.
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