The only person to whom he still wrote and from whom he still heard was his mother's father--an old man who lived at Derby, retired from the business of a draper, and spending his last years pleasantly enough with a daughter who had remained single.

Edwin had always been a favourite with his grandfather, though they had met only once or twice during the past eight years.

But in writing he did not allow it to be understood that he was in actual want, and he felt that he must come to dire extremities before he could bring himself to beg assistance.
He had begun to answer advertisements, but the state of his wardrobe forbade his applying for any but humble positions.

Once or twice he presented himself personally at offices, but his reception was so mortifying that death by hunger seemed preferable to a continuance of such experiences.

The injury to his pride made him savagely arrogant; for days after the last rejection he hid himself in his garret, hating the world.
He sold his little collection of books, and of course they brought only a trifling sum.