"Let me be quiet, if only for a month," he said. "Here is some
money. I have got an idea; I must and will have quiet. In a
month's time I shall have got on so far that perhaps I shall be
able to judge if it is worth continuing. It may be that this one
idea may entirely support us."
This was something which she could understand, and now he was able
to be quiet.
He had an office in the town, but sometimes took his papers home
with him in the evenings, for it often happened that something
would occur to him at one moment or another. She bestowed every
care on him; she even sat on the stairs while he was asleep at
midday, to prevent him from being disturbed.
This went on for a fortnight. Then it so chanced that, when he had
gone out for a walk, she rummaged among his papers, and there,
among drawings, calculations, and letters, she actually, for once
in a way, found something. It was in his handwriting and as
follows:
"More of the mother than the lover in her; more of the solicitude
of love than of its enjoyment. Rich in her affection, she would
not squander it in one day with you, but, mother-like, would
distribute it throughout your life.
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