If he hadn't starved himself, he wouldn't have been caught by La Grippe.

He had been run down, and he had not had the strength to throw off the germ of disease which had invaded his system.
This was what resulted.
"What does it profit a man to write a whole library and lose his own life ?" he demanded aloud.

"This is no place for me.

No more literature in mine.

Me for the counting-house and ledger, the monthly salary, and the little home with Ruth." Two days later, having eaten an egg and two slices of toast and drunk a cup of tea, he asked for his mail, but found his eyes still hurt too much to permit him to read.
"You read for me, Maria," he said.