His deadly-lively place, and this monotonous, cooped-up life. "How do
you manage to write one-handed?" I asked. And he sat down to his desk,
put a letter-weight on the left-hand corner of the sheet of foolscap,
and wrote that comical first paragraph of the eighth chapter over which
we have all laughed. I suppose few readers guessed the author's state of
mind when he wrote it. I looked over his shoulder to see what he had
written, and couldn't help laughing aloud--I verily believe that it was
his way of turning off attention from his arm, and leading me safely
from the region of awkward questions. "By-the-by," I exclaimed, "your
writing of garden-parties reminds me. I went to one at Campden Hill the
other day, a
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