Stevenson was not a prepossessing figure at these times. With his
sallow skin and his black dishevelled hair, with finger-nails which had
been allowed to grow very long, with fingers discolored by tobacco--in
short, with a general untidiness that was all his own, Stevenson, so
Bok felt, was an author whom it was better to read than to see. And
yet his kindliness and gentleness more than offset the unattractiveness
of his physical appearance.
After one or two visits from Bok, having grown accustomed to him,
Stevenson would discuss some sentence in an article, or read some
amended paragraph out loud and ask whether Bok though it sounded
better. To pass upon Stevenson as a stylist was, of course, hardly
within Bok's mental reach, so he kept discreetly silent when Stevenson
asked his opinion.
In fact, Bok reasoned it out that the novelist did not really expect an
answer or an opinion, but was at such times thinking aloud. The mental
process, however, was immensely interesting, particularly when
Stevenson would ask Bok to hand him a book on words lying on an
adjacent table.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152