'
Reardon was away from his duties for a week; he returned to them
with a feeling of extreme shakiness, an indisposition to exert
himself, and a complete disregard of the course that events were
taking. It was fortunate that he had kept aside that small store
of money designed for emergencies; he was able to draw on it now
to pay his doctor, and provide himself with better nourishment
than usual. He purchased new boots, too, and some articles of
warm clothing of which he stood in need--an alarming outlay.
A change had come over him; he was no longer rendered miserable
by thoughts of Amy--seldom, indeed, turned his mind to her at
all. His secretaryship at Croydon was a haven within view; the
income of seventy-five pounds (the other half to go to his wife)
would support him luxuriously, and for anything beyond that he
seemed to care little. Next Sunday he was to go over to Croydon
and see the institution.
One evening of calm weather he made his way to Clipstone Street
and greeted his friend with more show of light-heartedness than
he had been capable of for at least two years.
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