"Not he. I don't think I should have minded if he had. I felt strong enough for anything then. It was this morning. I was sitting out here, looking at all this beautiful inspiring scenery, when it came to me, that notion that I should never do anything again."
"Is it—" her hesitations were delightful to him—"is it the want of recognition that disheartens you?"
He laughed again, a healthy honest laugh. "Oh, dear me, no! I don't worry about recognition. That would be all right if I could go on. But I can't go on."
"Have you ever felt like this before?"
"N—no. No, never. And for the life of me I can't think why I should now."
"And yet you've been making catalogues for years, haven't you?"
Lucia had said to herself, "It's that catalogue raisonné, I know."
"Do you like making catalogues?"
"Well, under ordinary circumstances it isn't exactly what you'd call exciting. But I'm afraid that hasn't got anything to do with it this time."
"It may have everything to do with it—such a dreadful kind of work."