It had always seemed to him that _his_ renown was different from other renowns, less--somehow unreal and make-believe.

He had never imaginatively grasped, despite prices and public inquisitiveness, that he too was one of the Titanic figures.

He grasped it now.

The aspect of the papers brought it home to him with tremendous force.
Special large type! Titles stretching across two columns! Black borders round the pages! "Death of England's greatest painter." "Sudden death of Priam Farll." "Sad death of a great genius." "Puzzling career prematurely closed." "Europe in mourning." "Irreparable loss to the world's art." "It is with the most profound regret." "Our readers will be shocked." "The news will come as a personal blow to every lover of great painting." So the papers went on, outvying each other in enthusiastic grief.
He ceased to be careless and condescending to them.

The skin crept along his spine.