Not only did it revive
my latent desire to help the afflicted; it did more. It aroused a
consuming desire to emulate Hugo himself, by writing a book which
should arouse sympathy for and interest in that class of unfortunates
in whose behalf I felt it my peculiar right and duty to speak. I
question whether any one ever read "Les Miserables" with keener
feeling. By day I read the story until my head ached; by night I
dreamed of it.
To resolve to write a book is one thing; to write it--fortunately for
the public--is quite another. Though I wrote letters with ease, I soon
discovered that I knew nothing of the vigils or methods of writing a
book. Even then I did not attempt to predict just when I should begin
to commit my story to paper. But, a month later, a member of the firm
in whose employ I was made a remark which acted as a sudden spur. One
day, while discussing the business situation with me, he informed me
that my work had convinced him that he had made no mistake in
re-employing me when he did.
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