An Artist’s Story

“YOU are the doctor, I suppose,” said Augustus Augustus Pokewhistle, smiling from his bed at the immense man who had arrived secretly while he slept. “It is kind of you to come, but I don’t think you can help me. However, you are here, I will tell you what is wrong with me.
I am an artist. I paint pictures and I draw drawings…”
“You are going to tell me that you are not interested in the story of my life,” Augustus laughed bitterly. “You are one of the uncaring public, and it is of no importance to you if a clever young man should take to his bed at the height of his youth, never to rise again. But I suppose you have been sent here by some interfering so-called friend of mine to save me from my suffering, and I must therefore explain my illness. And you cannot understand my illness unless I tell you the story of my life.
     ” I was delicately brought up, and ……


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