22/53 As you had conceived and written the earlier parts, the truth about the end, though indisputably true to fact, would have been a lie, or what is worse, a discord, in art. Now, your book began to end well. You let yourself fall in love with, and fondle, and smile at your puppets. Once you had done that, your honour was committed--at the cost of truth to life you were bound to save them. It is the blot on _Richard Feverel_ for instance, that it begins to end well; and then tricks you and ends ill. |