There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.
— Oscar Wilde
When every morning, you receive a fresh, ink-scented copy of The Tis from a newsboy, what is the first thing you do?
Different people have different focuses.
Dickens always habitually flips through the dostic news to find material for his writing.
Mr. Disraeli, whose seat in the Lower House is unstable, will repeatedly search for news from his district, Maidstone in Kent County.
Eld, on the other hand, holding a piece of cottage bread, sips a cup of tea while praying to God that today’s paper might have so London "love" stories.
As for Sir Arthur Hastings?
Since 1830, he has developed a peculiar habit while reading the newspaper.
He would subconsciously search for his na in the newspaper, and when he saw soone nad Arthur appear in an article, his heart would race. But if that person’s surna wasn’t Hastings, he couldn’t help but feel stifled.
Even Arthur himself couldn’t explain this contradictory feeling. He clearly didn’t want anyone to notice him so that he could secretly continue doing what he wanted, but if truly no one noticed him and he felt insignificant, the gentleman couldn’t even sleep well.
And ever since returning to London, his insomnia had lasted for almost a month.
To end this state as soon as possible, Sir Arthur Hastings voluntarily increased his daily working hours from 12 to 16, even though no one paid him even one penny for it.
The fact proved that his approach of significantly increasing his work hours achieved an effective result. After a chance "encounter" with John Conroy at a banquet a few days ago, this forr Scotland Yard officer successfully tore a gap in the impenetrable "Kensington Line."
Unfortunately, such high-intensity work is obviously detrintal to one’s physical and ntal health, especially fatal for soone with a bad heart.
Yesterday, the Dean of Academic Affairs at the University of London, on the way ho after work, blacked out and fell to the ground as soon as he reached Greville Street. Fortunately, the London University teaching hospital, the London Free General Hospital, was not far away.
After drinking the digitalis tea provided by the doctor and resting for a night, Arthur finally regained his strength.
But whether it was the digitalis taking effect, or the mischievous Red Devil hovering over his head all night, Arthur, with no dical background, couldn’t be sure.
However, more than his physical discomfort, Arthur was evidently more interested in the changes at the London Free General Hospital over the years after spending a night there.
Due to the hospital’s outstanding role in sheltering and treating patients during the cholera epidemic two years ago, streams of social donations have poured in. Although these donations weren’t always large sums, together they amounted to a considerable figure, and Arthur alone donated 150 pounds worth of dicines and supplies in the na of an alumnus.
Today’s London Free General Hospital is no longer the small clinic created by Mr. William Marsden but a large hospital with nearly 200 beds.
What surprised Arthur even more was running into an old acquaintance there.
The surgical apprentice John Snow, who provided him with ideas for controlling cholera during his inspection in Liverpool.
Ever since receiving Arthur’s letter of recomndation, Snow entered the London University dical College that sa year.
Due to working as an apprentice in surgeries and treatnts since the age of 14 and being recomnded by Arthur, this soon-to-be third-year dical student has been learning closely with Professor Marsden, who has a good personal relationship with Arthur, ever since he started college.
Though yet to graduate, in Marsden’s view, the rapidly improving John Snow is almost ready to stand on his own.
Arthur sat on the hospital bed, organizing his clothes, and chatted with Snow beside him: "Ti flies. Back in Liverpool, I never thought the doctor treating one day would be you."
Snow smiled bashfully, feeling only gratitude towards the benefactor who brought him from Liverpool to London: "Yeah! Who would’ve thought? Even though so much ti has passed, every ti I think back to those days, it feels like a dream. If I hadn’t t you, maybe I would still be serving as an apprentice for another four or five years. If everything went smoothly, perhaps I could eventually enroll in a dical college and beco a specialist doctor. But in any case, I would’ve never had the opportunity to publish an article in The Lancet or even beco a doctor..."
Arthur jokingly replied: "Have you considered pursuing a doctorate? Surely it isn’t Mr. Marsden not wanting to let you go so soon? After all, there aren’t many students with your experience in dical school. Letting you leave now would require Mr. Marsden to spend considerable effort fostering a successor, and the next might not be as capable as you."
Hearing this, Snow shook his head repeatedly: "Doing a doctorate is my own idea, it has nothing to do with Mr. Marsden. He actually hopes that after graduation, I could start working at a big hospital as soon as possible and he even plans to personally write a recomndation letter for Westminster Hospital. He always feels that I have seen all the cases there are to see here and staying longer isn’t beneficial to my growth."
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