" And the Saturday would have had a column of sneering
jocosity on the irrepressibly sanguine temperament of authors. At
all events, I should have had my day of fame.'
'But what an ignoble death it would have been!' he pursued.
'Perishing in the garret of a lodging-house which caught fire by
the overturning of a drunkard's lamp! One would like to end
otherwise.'
'Where would you wish to die?' asked Reardon, musingly.
'At home,' replied the other, with pathetic emphasis. 'I have
never had a home since I was a boy, and am never likely to have
one. But to die at home is an unreasoning hope I still cherish.'
'If you had never come to London, what would you have now been?'
'Almost certainly a schoolmaster in some small town. And one
might be worse off than that, you know.'
'Yes, one might live peaceably enough in such a position. And I--
I should be in an estate-agent's office, earning a sufficient
salary, and most likely married to some unambitious country girl.
I should have lived an intelligible life, instead of only trying
to live, aiming at modes of life beyond my reach.
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