"Over again? What fearful waste of time!"
"Yes, it has cost him hundreds of hours' work; it just shows what a
man he is, that he has gone through with it so bravely."
"But how do you mean? Didn't it do?"
Rashly, perhaps, yet I think unavoidably, I told her the truth.
"It was the best thing he had ever written, but unfortunately it was
destroyed, burnt to a cinder. That was not very pleasant, was it,
for a man who never makes two copies of his work?"
"It was frightful!" said Freda, her eyes dilating. "I never heard a
word about it. Does Lawrence know?"
"No, he does not; and perhaps I ought not to have told you, but I
was annoyed at your so misunderstanding Derrick. Pray never mention
the affair; he would wish it kept perfectly quiet."
"Why?" asked Freda, turning her clear eyes full upon mine.
"Because," I said, lowering my voice, "because his father burnt it."
She almost gasped.
"Deliberately?"
"Yes, deliberately," I replied. "His illness has affected his
temper, and he is sometimes hardly responsible for his actions."
"Oh, I knew that he was irritable and hasty, and that Derrick
annoyed him.
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