Have you any other business? asked his step-father. CHAPTER XXII. So it has been with many novelists, who, after some good work, perhaps after very much good work, have distressed their audience because they have gone on with their work till their work has become simply a trade with them. Need I make a list of such, seeing that it would contain the names of those who have been greatest in the art of British novel-writing? They have at last become weary of that portion of a novelist鈥檚 work which is of all the most essential to success. That a man as he grows old should feel the labour of writing to be a fatigue is natural enough. But a man to whom writing has become a habit may write well though he be fatigued. But the weary novelist refuses any longer to give his mind to that work of observation and reception from which has come his power, without which work his power cannot be continued 鈥?which work should be going on not only when he is at his desk, but in all his walks abroad, in all his movements through the world, in all his intercourse with his fellow-creatures. He has become a novelist, as another has become a poet, because he has in those walks abroad, unconsciously for the most part, been drawing in matter from all that he has seen and heard. But this has not been done without labour, even when the labour has been unconscious. Then there comes a time when he shuts his eyes and shuts his ears. When we talk of memory fading as age comes on, it is such shutting of eyes and ears that we mean. The things around cease to interest us, and we cannot exercise our minds upon them. To the novelist thus wearied there comes the demand for further novels. He does not know his own defect, and even if he did he does not wish to abandon his own profession. He still writes; but he writes because he has to tell a story, not because he has a story to tell. What reader of novels has not felt the 鈥渨oodenness鈥?of this mode of telling? The characters do not live and move, but are cut out of blocks and are propped against the wall. The incidents are arranged in certain lines 鈥?the arrangement being as palpable to the reader as it has been to the writer 鈥?but do not follow each other as results naturally demanded by previous action. The reader can never feel 鈥?as he ought to feel 鈥?that only for that flame of the eye, only for that angry word, only for that moment of weakness, all might have been different. The course of the tale is one piece of stiff mechanism, in which there is no room for a doubt. 日本极品a级片_一级a做爰片_亚洲色天堂_艳母动漫 鈥業 am going to take my work away again, sir, as you do not care to pay the price I ask for it,鈥?she said. 鈥楴othing of the kind, Emmeline,鈥?he said sharply. 鈥楲ord Inverbroom proposed me.鈥? He rose, and, walking to the door, shut it, first peering into the hall to see if anyone were listening. Loving, loyal! he cried, with passionate scorn. "You had deceived and dishonoured me鈥攜ou had made your name a by-word鈥攁 jest for such a man as Vansittart Crowther鈥攁nd for how many more? You had lied, and lied, and lied to me鈥攂y every look, by every word that made you seem a virtuous woman and a faithful wife. My God, what misery!" It is hardly likely. His name is not Kenyon. I can tell you his real name.