In 1869 (please note the date) she taught Mrs. Wentworth the Quimby theory for the sum of $300, to be taken out in board, and at that time she made no pretense that it was her own theory. She even permitted Mrs. Wentworth to copy from a manuscript which has been proven to be identical with the original Quimby manuscript. Several witnesses testify that she "talked Quimby till every one grew dead tired of hearing him," and she often remarked: "I learned this from Dr. Quimby, and he made me promise to teach it to at least two persons before I die." It is also known that Mrs. Eddy "shrank instinctively, like any other nervous woman, from the sick-bed of others, and had shown such a morbid fear of death that Mrs. Wentworth often wondered what there could be in her past to make death seem so dreadful." Mrs. Eddy did not practice healing. What she now wanted was to publish and teach Quimbyism and to find some one to demonstrate the healing theory. In 1870 she found just what she wanted in the person of Richard Kennedy, with whom she went into partnership, and in six months they had made $6,000. This was the sharp turning point of her life. She now discarded Quimby forever, and her ambitions led her in time to discard even Kennedy, her greatest benefactor. Everything was now Mrs. Eddy. She next started a school or college where students paid her $100 each plus a promise to pay her a life annuity of ten per cent. of all their future earnings. She also made them give a bond for $3,000 which was to be forfeited if they allowed any one to see or to copy the manuscripts that she lent them. The college so prospered that she raised the price to $300 for twelve lessons, induced, she says, "by a strange providence." In 1877, at the age of fifty-six (although her age appears as forty in the marriage license), she married Asa Gilbert Eddy, then forty years old. He was "a man willing to be taught; he would even turn docility into self-effacement." He died five years later. Even Mrs. Eddy could not save him. Mrs. Eddy never had another husband, but "in Calvin A. Frye, steward, bookkeeper, secretary, coachman, her 'man of all work,'" as she herself called him, she has had the while one singularly devoted to her and to her interests. To serve her he gave up all at the outset. Family ties were relinquished. Friendships were allowed to languish. It is said that never since the day he came, has he been beyond the reach of her voice for a whole day! A few years ago Dr. E. J. Foster, whom she adopted in 1882 as her son, was driven out of his home by Frye. Her own son she seems to have forgotten entirely for long years at a time.