He came to her at once, and turning, walked by her side. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. . Their faces had bite marks that were hers. Later, she would sew it on. Wood was once a favourite of yours. . "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing.
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