In August things were
slightly better; but with the return to labour came a renewal of
Yule's sullenness and savageness. Sundry pieces of ill-luck of a
professional kind--warnings, as he too well understood, that it
was growing more and more difficult for him to hold his own
against the new writers--exasperated his quarrel with destiny.
The gloom of a cold and stormy September was doubly wretched in
that house on the far borders of Camden Town, but in October the
sun reappeared and it seemed to mollify the literary man's mood.
Just when Mrs Yule and Marian began to hope that this long
distemper must surely come to an end, there befell an incident
which, at the best of times, would have occasioned misery, and
which in the present juncture proved disastrous.
It was one morning about eleven. Yule was in his study; Marian
was at the Museum; Mrs Yule had gone shopping. There came a sharp
knock at the front door, and the servant, on opening, was
confronted with a decently-dressed woman, who asked in a
peremptory voice if Mrs Yule was at home.
'No? Then is Mr Yule?'
'Yes, mum, but I'm afraid he's busy.
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