But it was the vigour of his frame
that pulled him through--as I believe all the skill in London could
not have availed to do in the days of his prosperity when he was fat
and fleshy. Hard life on the island had thinned him down and
tautened and toughened him so that I wondered sometimes, washing his
body, if this was indeed the man with whom I had vowed my quarrel.
"His ravings in delirium, however, left no doubt on that score!
I tell you I had to listen to some fairly obscene descriptions of
myself and his feelings for me--all in the best Houndsditch. . . .
Yet here again was a queer thing--again and again this gutter-flow
would check itself, drop its Cockney as if down a sink, and, bubbling
up again, start flowing to the language of an educated man. . . . The
first time this happened it gave me a shock, less the abruptness of
the break than by its sudden assault upon my memory. All insensibly,
and unmarked by me, Farrell's accent and way of speech had been
nearing those of decent folk. They were by no means perfect, but
they had amazingly improved.
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