It is not an easy thing. And if you could have seen his face to day as I saw it, all furrowed over, as if full of railroad tracks, hard, and dry, and bloodless, twitching nervously now and then as his bright eyes beamed with intense excitement, you would have felt no bitterness at all, but have been your dear old self, and have felt only pity. The fact is, for all his exemplary and well-ordered life, he is far from well in body or in mind. He is compelled to have con stant recourse to artificial stimulants to keep up and not fall under the great load under which he stoops. His hand trembles sometimes as if he had an ague. And what wonder The life he leads is too arduous. It is unnatural, and, of course, he must resort to unnatural stimulants for support.
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