Sunday, April 5th., Rue de Calais, Paris.
I finished this morning, at 8.30 am., "The Snake Charmer", melodrama in one act. It is intended as a music-hall sketch. I have no real expectation of it ever being played. I make £25 down out of it, and that is all I am sure of.
The habit of work is growing on me. I could get into the way of going to my desk as a man goes to whisky, or rather to chloral. Now that I have finished all my odd jobs and have nothing to do but 10,000 words of novel a week, and two articles a week, I feel quite lost, and at once begin to think, without effort, of ideas for a new novel. My instinct is to multiply books and articles and plays. I constantly gloat over the number of words I have written in a period.
All I want now is about 5,000 francs extra to fix us in the Fontainebleau house. When there I shall walk every day, come rain or shine, getting my ideas in the open air and restoring my soul as well as exercising my body.
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