"
What he wanted to reply was that he should abandon all this job-hunting
and live lean until he could sell his real work, instead of striving to
maintain the semblance of an expensive comfort in the city by selling
himself to magazines and publishers. But Milly would not understand the
urgency of that--how could she? And what had he to offer her now for the
sacrifice he should be demanding? What would she do with the long,
silent days in the country, while he worked and destroyed what he did,
only to begin again on the morrow at the ceaseless task, with its
doubtful result? If there had been real companionship, or if the flame
of their passion had still burned, then it might not have proved an
intolerable exile for the woman....
They did as others would do under the circumstances--hung on in the
great city as best they could, in the hope of a better fortune soon,
living expectantly from day to day. Each month the city life seemed to
demand more money, and each month Bragdon sank deeper into the mire of
journalistic art. Worst of all they got into the habit of regarding
their life as a temporary makeshift, which they expected to change when
they could, tolerating it for the present as best they could,--like most
of the workers of the world. Bragdon, at least, knew what he hoped for,
impossible as it might be,--a total escape from the debauching work he
was doing.
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