Through the heart of the day, during those hours which from his early
boyhood had been to him working hours, this removal from life brought to
the man a poignancy of realisation which beat with undiminishing force
against the wall of his endurance. It was when he finished his breakfast
and the day's work would naturally begin that it came home to him the
hardest. They would go into the library, and Ernestine would read to
him--how she delved into the whole storehouse of literature for things to
hold him best--and how great her joy when she found something to make the
day pass a little less hard than was the day's wont! He would listen to
her, loving her voice, and trying to bring his mind to what she read, but
all the while his thoughts reaching out to what he would be doing if his
life as worker were not blotted out. The call of his work tormented him
all through the day, and the twilight was the time most bearable because
it was an hour which had never been filled with the things of his work.
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