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Updated: May 15, 2025
They would have a little house within sight of the sea, and he would watch the mighty ships passing to the lands he would never know. Perhaps that was the wisest thing. Cronshaw had told him that the facts of life mattered nothing to him who by the power of fancy held in fee the twin realms of space and time. It was true. Forever wilt thou love and she be fair!
The air was musty; and the room, notwithstanding Philip's tidying up, had the bedraggled look which seemed to accompany Cronshaw wherever he went. He took off his spectacles as they came in. Philip was in a towering rage. "Upjohn tells me you've been complaining to him because I've urged you to have a doctor," he said.
"But if all that is true," cried Philip, "what is the use of anything? If you take away duty and goodness and beauty why are we brought into the world?" "Here comes the gorgeous East to suggest an answer," smiled Cronshaw. He pointed to two persons who at that moment opened the door of the cafe, and, with a blast of cold air, entered.
He found Cronshaw dressed, sitting in his hat and great-coat on the bed, with a small, shabby portmanteau, containing his clothes and books, already packed: it was on the floor by his feet, and he looked as if he were sitting in the waiting-room of a station. Philip laughed at the sight of him.
Cronshaw pretended to treat the matter with detachment, but it was easy to see that he was delighted with the thought of the stir he would make. One day Philip went to dine by arrangement at the wretched eating-house at which Cronshaw insisted on taking his meals, but Cronshaw did not appear. Philip learned that he had not been there for three days.
"Twenty-five francs," smiled the pedlar obsequiously. "Ultima Thule was the place of its manufacture, even Birmingham the place of my birth." "Fifteen francs," cringed the bearded man. "Get thee gone, fellow," said Cronshaw. "May wild asses defile the grave of thy maternal grandmother." Imperturbably, but smiling no more, the Levantine passed with his wares to another table.
Philip imagined himself in such a plight, knowing it was inevitable and with no one, not a soul, to give an encouraging word when the fear seized him. "You're rather upset," said Dr. Tyrell. He looked at him with his bright blue eyes. They were not unsympathetic. When he saw Cronshaw, he said: "He must have been dead for some hours. I should think he died in his sleep. They do sometimes."
Upjohn was also a little put out because Philip had brought Cronshaw to his own rooms. "I wish you had left him in Soho," he said, with a wave of his long, thin hands. "There was a touch of romance in that sordid attic. I could even bear it if it were Wapping or Shoreditch, but the respectability of Kennington! What a place for a poet to die!"
You are a puritan and in your heart you despise sensual pleasures. Sensual pleasures are the most violent and the most exquisite. I am a man blessed with vivid senses, and I have indulged them with all my soul. I have to pay the penalty now, and I am ready to pay." Philip looked at him for a while steadily. "Aren't you afraid?" For a moment Cronshaw did not answer. He seemed to consider his reply.
I wanted to die among my own people. I don't know what hidden instinct drew me back at the last." Philip knew of the woman Cronshaw had lived with and the two draggle-tailed children, but Cronshaw had never mentioned them to him, and he did not like to speak of them. He wondered what had happened to them. "I don't know why you talk of dying," he said.
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