'... I remember that on my subsequent visits
he was always, at the moment of my arrival, dictating, and always
greeted me with that phrase, `A great deal of work on hand just now.'
I used to wonder what work it was, for he published little enough. But
I never ventured to inquire, and indeed rather cherished the mystery:
it was a part of the dear little old man; it went with the something
gnome-like about his swarthiness and chubbiness--went with the shaggy
hair that fell over the collar of his eternally crumpled frock-coat,
the shaggy eyebrows that overhung his bright little brown eyes, the
shaggy moustache that hid his small round chin. It was a mystery
inherent in the richly-laden atmosphere of The Pines....
While I stood talking to Watts-Dunton--talking as loudly as he, for he
was very deaf--I enjoyed the thrill of suspense in watching the door
through which would appear--Swinburne. I asked after Mr. Swinburne's
health. Watts-Dunton said it was very good: `He always goes out for
his long walk in the morning--wonderfully active. Active in mind, too.
But I'm afraid you won't be able to get into touch with him. He's
almost stone-deaf, poor fellow--almost stone-deaf now.' He changed the
subject, and I felt I must be careful not to seem interested in
Swinburne exclusively.
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