You shall not pay one single farthing for mine. Is that
being on a footing of equality? But I shall deduct the sum for the
maintenance of my children and servants: then you will still have 2100
dollars for the assistance you give to my servants. Do you want any
more bills?"
She wanted no more; never again.
THE BREADWINNER
He wakes up in the morning from evil dreams of bills which have become
due and copy which has not been delivered. His hair is damp with cold
perspiration, and his cheeks tremble as he dresses himself. He listens
to the chirruping of the children in the next room and plunges his
burning face into cold water. He drinks the coffee which he has made
himself, so as not to disturb the nursery maid at the early hour of
eight o'clock. Then he makes his bed, brushes his clothes, and sits
down to write.
The fever attacks him, the fever which is to create hallucinations of
rooms he has never seen, landscapes which never existed, people whose
names cannot be found in the directory. He sits at his writing table
in mortal anguish. His thoughts must be clear, pregnant and
picturesque, his writing legible, the story dramatic; the interest
must never abate, the metaphors must be striking, the dialogue
brilliant.
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