A、4. B、8. C、5 D、18 C

The world I entered at the age of eighteen was a very cheap world. Prices were stable. When I entered St. Thomas’ Hospital I rent a set of rooms in Vincent Square for which I paid 18 shillings a week. My landlady provided me with a very good breakfast before I went to the hospital and a dinner when I came back at half past six. I only had to pay for the breakfasts and dinners twelve shillings a week. For four-pence I lunched at St. Thomas’ on bread and butter and a glass of milk. I was able to live very well, pay my fees, buy my necessary instruments, clothe myself, and have a lot of fun on fourteen pounds a month. And I could always pawn my microscope for three pounds.
    I spent five years at St. Thomas’ Hospital. I was a bad student, for my heart, as you might have guessed, was not in it. I wanted, I had always wanted, to be a writer, and in the evenings, after my dinner, I wrote and read. Before long, I wrote a novel called "Liza of Lambeth", which I sent to a publisher and was accepted. It came out during my last year at the hospital and it was successful It was of course an accident, but I did not know that. I felt I could afford to give up medicine and make writing my profession; so, three days after I graduated from the school of medicine, I left for Spain to write another book. I did not realize, at that time, that I was taking a great risk.