“Well, I don’t think you told him as much as that, did you?” Lady Lescelles asked. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. . “You don’t want to go?” “No. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. ” She had spoken rather rapidly. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.
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