I thought mine was
not so bad (I have done nine chapters), but Cullingworth
says he has read it all before, and that it is much
too conventional. We must rivet the attention of the
public from the start, he says. Certainly, his own is
calculated to do so, for it seems to me to be wild
rubbish. The end of his first chapter is the only
tolerable point that he has made. A fraudulent old
baronet is running race-horses on the cross. His son,
who is just coming of age, is an innocent youth. The
news of the great race of the year has just been
received.
"Sir Robert tottered into the room with dry lips and
a ghastly face.
"`My poor boy!' he cried. `Prepare for the worst!'
"`Our horse has lost!' cried the young heir,
springing from his chair.
"The old man threw himself in agony upon the rug.
`No, no!' he screamed. `IT HAS WON!'"
Most of it, however, is poor stuff, and we are each
agreed that the other was never meant for a novelist.
So much for our domestic proceedings, and all these
little details which you say you like to hear of. Now I
must tell you of the great big change in my affairs,
and how it came about.
I have told you about the strange, sulky behaviour of
Cullingworth, which has been deepening from day to day.
Well, it seemed to reach a climax this morning, and on
our way to the rooms I could hardly get a word out of
him. The place was fairly crowded with patients, but my
own share was rather below the average.
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