Dance Me to the End of Love

Dance Me to the End of Love
Evening Mood painting
female nude reclining
flaming june painting
¡¡¡¡It was ten o'clock when I went out. Many of the shops were shut, and the town was dull. When I came to Omer and Joram's, I found the shutters up, but the shop door standing open. As I could obtain a perspective view of Mr. Omer inside, smoking his pipe by the parlour door, I entered, and asked him how he was. ¡¡¡¡'Why, bless my life and soul!' said Mr. Omer, 'how do you find yourself? Take a seat. - Smoke not disagreeable, I hope?' ¡¡¡¡'By no means,' said I. 'I like it - in somebody else's pipe.' ¡¡¡¡'What, not in your own, eh?' Mr. Omer returned, laughing. 'All the better, sir. Bad habit for a young man. Take a seat. I smoke,
oil painting
myself, for the asthma.' ¡¡¡¡Mr. Omer had made room for me, and placed a chair. He now sat down again very much out of breath, gasping at his pipe as if it contained a supply of that necessary, without which he must perish. ¡¡¡¡'I am sorry to have heard bad news of Mr. Barkis,' said I. ¡¡¡¡Mr. Omer looked at me, with a steady countenance, and shook his head. ¡¡¡¡'Do you know how he is tonight?' I asked. ¡¡¡¡'The very question I should have put to you, sir,' returned Mr. Omer, 'but on account of delicacy. It's one of the drawbacks of our line of business. When a party's ill, we can't ask how the party is.' ¡¡¡¡The difficulty had not occurred to me; though I had had my apprehensions too, when I went in, of hearing the old tune. On its being mentioned, I recognized it, however, and said as much.

Dance Me to the End of Love

Dance Me to the End of Love
Evening Mood painting
female nude reclining
flaming june painting
Which will be kept down to my estimate,' said his sister. ¡¡¡¡'Your clothes will be looked after for you, too,' said Mr. Murdstone; 'as you will not be able, yet awhile, to get them for yourself. So you are now going to London, David, with Mr. Quinion, to begin the world on your own account.' ¡¡¡¡'In short, you are provided for,' observed his sister; 'and will please to do your duty.' ¡¡¡¡Though I quite understood that the purpose of this announcement was to get rid of me, I have no distinct remembrance whether it pleased or frightened me. My impression is, that I was in a state of confusion about it, and, oscillating between the two points, touched neither. Nor had I much time for the clearing of my thoughts, as Mr. Quinion was to go upon the morrow. ¡¡¡¡Behold me,
oil painting
on the morrow, in a much-worn little white hat, with a black crape round it for my mother, a black jacket, and a pair of hard, stiff corduroy trousers - which Miss Murdstone considered the best armour for the legs in that fight with the world which was now to come off. behold me so attired, and with my little worldly all before me in a small trunk, sitting, a lone lorn child (as Mrs. Gummidge might have said), in the post-chaise that was carrying Mr. Quinion to the London coach at Yarmouth! See, how our house and church are lessening in the distance; how the grave beneath the tree is blotted out by intervening objects; how the spire points upwards from my old playground no more, and the sky is empty!

Dance Me to the End of Love

Dance Me to the End of Love
Evening Mood painting
female nude reclining
flaming june painting
¡¡¡¡What good times they had, to be sure! Such plays and tableaux, such sleigh-rides and skating frolics, such pleasant evenings in the old parlour, and now and then such gay little parties at the great house. Meg could walk in the conservatory whenever she liked, and revel in bouquets; Jo browsed over the new library voraciously, and convulsed the old gentleman with her criticisms. Amy copied pictures and enjoyed beauty to her heart's content; and Laurie played `lord of the manor' in the most delightful style. ¡¡¡¡But Beth, though yearning for the grand piano, could not pluck up courage to go to the `Mansion of Bliss', as Meg called it. She went once with Jo; but the old gentleman, not being aware of her infirmity, stared at her so hard from under his heavy eyebrows, and said `Hey!' so loud, that he frightened her so much her `feet chattered on the floor', she told her mother; and she ran away, declaring she would never go there any more, not even for the dear piano. No persuasions or enticements could overcome her fears, till the fact coming to Mr. Laurence's ear in some mysterious way, he set about mending matters. During one of the brief calls he made, he artfully led the conversation to music, and talked away about great singers whom he had seen, fine organs he had heard, and told such charming anecdotes that Beth found it impossible to stay in her distant comer, but crept nearer and nearer, as if fascinated. At the back of his chair she stopped, and stood listening, with her great eyes wide open, and her cheeks red with the excitement of this unusual performance. Taking no more notice of her than if she had been a fly, Mr. Laurence talked on about Laurie's lessons and teachers; and presently, as if the idea had just occurred to him, he said to Mrs. March:

Dance Me to the End of Love

Dance Me to the End of Love
Evening Mood painting
female nude reclining
flaming june painting
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
¡¡¡¡ "Oh--nothing!" ¡¡¡¡ "You are 'father', you know. That's what they call the man who gives you away." ¡¡¡¡ Jude could have said "Phillotson's age entitles him to be called that!" But he would not annoy her by such a cheap retort. ¡¡¡¡ She talked incessantly, as if she dreaded his indulgence in reflection, and before the meal was over both he and she wished they had not put such confidence in their new view of things, and had taken breakfast apart. What oppressed Jude was the thought that, having done a wrong thing of this sort himself, he was aiding and abetting the woman he loved in doing a like wrong thing, instead of imploring and warning her against it. It was on his tongue to say, "You have quite made up your mind?" ¡¡¡¡ After breakfast they went out on an errand together moved by a mutual thought that it was the last opportunity they would have of indulging in unceremonious companionship. By the irony of fate, and the curious trick in Sue's nature of tempting Providence at critical times, she took his arm as they walked through the muddy street-- a thing she had never done before in her life--and on turning the corner they found themselves close to a grey perpendicular church with a low-pitched roof--the church of St. Thomas.

Dance Me to the End of Love

Dance Me to the End of Love
Evening Mood painting
female nude reclining
flaming june painting
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
¡¡¡¡ "Something you have been buying, Miss Bridehead?" she asked, regarding the enwrapped objects. ¡¡¡¡ "Yes--just something to ornament my room," said Sue. ¡¡¡¡ "Well, I should have thought I had put enough here already," said Miss Fontover, looking round at the Gothic-framed prints of saints, the Church-text scrolls, and other articles which, having become too stale to sell, had been used to furnish this obscure chamber. "What is it? How bulky!" She tore a little hole, about as big as a wafer, in the brown paper, and tried to peep in. "Why, statuary? Two figures? Where did you get them?" ¡¡¡¡ "Oh--I bought them of a travelling man who sells casts" ¡¡¡¡ "Two saints?" ¡¡¡¡ "Yes." ¡¡¡¡ "What ones?" ¡¡¡¡ "St. Peter and St.--St. Mary Magdalen." ¡¡¡¡ "Well--now come down to tea, and go and finish that organ-text, if there's light enough afterwards

Dance Me to the End of Love

Dance Me to the End of Love
Evening Mood painting
female nude reclining
flaming june painting
Craddock had to wait a few minutes whilst Quimper finished his evening surgery, and then the doctor came to him. He looked tired and depressed.
He offered Craddock a drink and when the latter accepted he mixed one for himself as well.
"Poor devils," he said as he sank down in a worn easy-chair. "So scared and so stupid - no sense. Had a painful case this evening. Woman sho ought to have come to me a year ago. If she'd come then, she might have been operated on successfully. Now it's too late. Makes me mad. The truth is people are an extraordinary mixture of heroism and cowardice. She's suffering agony, and borne it without a word, just because she was too scared to come and find out that what she feared might be true. At the other end of the scale are the people who come and waste my time because they've got a dangerous swelling causing them agony on their little finger which they think may be cancer and which turns out to be a common or garden chilblain! Well, don't remind me. I've blown off steam now. What did you want to see me about?"