You shall have the rest of my screed by to-morrow's post.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
Hodeslea, Eastbourne, February 20, 1895.
My dear Knowles,
Seven mortal hours have I been hard at work this day to try to keep my promise to you, and as I find that impossible, I have struck work and will see Balfour and his "Foundations", and even that ark of literature the "Nineteenth", at Ballywack, before I do any more.
But the whole affair shall be sent by a morning's post to-morrow. I have the proofs. I have found the thing getting too long for one paper, and requiring far more care than I could put into the next two days—so I propose to divide it, if you see no objection.
And there is another reason for this course. Influenza is raging here.
I hear of hundreds of cases, and if it comes my way, as it did before,
I go to bed and stop there—"the world forgetting and by the world
forgot"—until I am killed or cured. So you would not get your article.
As it stands, it is not a bad gambit. We will play the rest of the game afterwards, D.V. and K.V.
Hope mother and baby are doing well.