Jasper was too young to have thoroughly mastered
the art of somnambulistic composition; to write, he was still
obliged to give exclusive attention to the matter under
treatment. Dr Johnson's saying, that a man may write at any time
if he will set himself doggedly to it, was often upon his lips,
and had even been of help to him, as no doubt it has to many
another man obliged to compose amid distracting circumstances;
but the formula had no efficacy this evening. Twice or thrice he
rose from his chair, paced the room with a determined brow, and
sat down again with vigorous clutch of the pen; still he failed
to excogitate a single sentence that would serve his purpose.
'I must have it out with myself before I can do anything,' was
his thought as he finally abandoned the endeavour. 'I must make
up my mind.'
To this end he settled himself in an easy-chair and began to
smoke cigarettes. Some dozen of these aids to reflection only
made him so nervous that he could no longer remain alone. He put
on his hat and overcoat and went out--to find that it was raining
heavily.
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