'
However, owing I believe chiefly to his own self-command, and to his
untiring faculty for taking infinite pains over his work, Derrick
did not break down, but pleasantly cheated my expectations. I was
not called on to nurse him through a fever, and consumption did not
mark him for her own. In fact, in the matter of illness, he was
always a most prosaic, unromantic fellow, and never indulged in any
of the euphonious and interesting ailments. In all his life, I
believe, he never went in for anything but the mumps--of all
complaints the least interesting--and, may be, an occasional
headache.
However, all this is a digression. We at length reached London, and
Derrick took a room above mine, now and then disturbing me with
nocturnal pacings over the creaking boards, but, on the whole,
proving himself the best of companions.
If I wrote till Doomsday, I could never make you understand how the
burning of his novel affected him--to this day it is a subject I
instinctively avoid with him--though the re-written 'At Strife' has
been such a grand success. For he did re-write the story, and that
at once.
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