You couldn't possibly give all this toil for no result.' 'No; not if I were in sound health.

But I am far from it.' 'Come and have supper with me, dear, and think afterwards.' He turned and smiled at her.
'I hope I shall never be able to resist an invitation from you, sweet.' The result of all this was, of course, that he sat down in anything but the right mood to his work next morning.

Amy's anticipation of criticism had made it harder than ever for him to labour at what he knew to be bad.

And, as ill-luck would have it, in a day or two he caught his first winter's cold.

For several years a succession of influenzas, sore-throats, lumbagoes, had tormented him from October to May; in planning his present work, and telling himself that it must be finished before Christmas, he had not lost sight of these possible interruptions.
But he said to himself: 'Other men have worked hard in seasons of illness; I must do the same.' All very well, but Reardon did not belong to the heroic class.