| |
| | AmericanHeritage.com / WHEN ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON WAS ONE OF US |
 | | Stevenson spent the better part of each day writing, but he also joined in the life of the steerage passengers as if he were one of them, and because of the filth to which he was exposed or because of nervous strain, he developed a maddening itch on his hands and lost fourteen pounds. |
 | | Stevenson enjoyed an occasional meal there, and whenever he had a little money he returned their hospitality with a dinner at one of the many small, good, and inexpensive restaurants for which San Francisco was already famous. |
 | | Stevenson bought the bread and, as he wrote, “returned up the trail, a breathing wreck, the mere offal of myself.” Since the hay had not arrived, there was nothing to do but settle their bones against the cold, bare wooden boards of the bunks and make the best of it. |
| www.americanheritage.com /articles/magazine/ah/1988/8/1988_8_81.shtml (5051 words) |
|