He said to me,
'To-morrow I shall have finished this, and I promise you that I will
never write another book on the subject. I will take to our biography.'
And I said, 'What a happiness that will be!' He took his usual walk
of nearly two hours in the morning, breakfasting well.
"That afternoon we sat together writing an immense number of letters,
which, when we had finished, I put on the hall table to be posted on
Monday morning. Each letter breathed of life and hope and happiness;
for we were making our preparations for a delightful voyage to Greece
and Constantinople, which was to last from November 15 to March 15. We
were to return to Trieste from march 15 till July 1. He would be a free
man on March 19, and those three months and a half we were to pack up,
make our preparations, wind up all our affairs, send our heavy baggage
to England, and, bidding adieu to Trieste, we were to pass July and
August in Switzerland, arrive in England in September, 1891, look for
a little flat and a little cottage, unpack, and settle ourselves to
live in England.
"The only difference remarkable on this particular Sunday, October 19,
was, that whereas my husband was dreadfully punctual, and with military
precision as the clock struck we had to be in our places at the table at
half-past seven, he seemed to dawdle about the room putting things away.
He said to me, 'You had better go in to table'; and I answered, 'No,
darling, I will wait for you'; and we went in together.
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