Caravaggio The Cardsharps painting

me flowers, but the room was full of them. Lucy lay in bed; slack and smiling. I sat down by her and held her hand. “Everyone’s been so sweet,” she said. “Have you seen my baby?”
“No.”
“He’s in the dressing room. Ask Kempy to show you.”
“Are you pleased with him?”
“I love him. I do really. I never thought I should. He’s such a person.”
This was incomprehensible.
“You haven’t gone bald,” I said.
“No, but my hair’s terrible. What did you do yesterday?”
“I got drunk.”
“So did poor Roger. Were you with him?”
“No,” I said, “it was really very amusing.” I began to tell her about Atwater, but she was not listening.
Then Sister Kemp came in with more flowers—from Mr. Benwell.
“How sweet he is,” said Lucy.

Edgar Degas Rehearsal on the Stage painting

Trade secrets,” said Mr. Godley.
“Trade secrets,” I repeated.
That was almost the only amusing incident in my London season.
The sale of the house in St. John’s Wood proved more irksome than I had expected. Ten years before the St. John’s Wood Residential Amenities Company who built the neighbouring flats had offered my father £6,000 for his freehold; he had preserved the letter, which was signed, “Alfred Hardcastle, Chairman.” Their successors, the Hill Crest Court Exploitation Co., now offered me £2,500; their letter was also signed Mr. Hardcastle. I refused, and put the house into an agent’s hands; after two months they reported one offer—of £2,500 from a Mr. Hardcastle, the managing director of St. John’s Wood Residential Estates Ltd. “In the circumstances,” they wrote, “we consider this a satisfactory price.” The circumstances were that no one who liked that kind of house would tolerate its surroundings; having dominated the district, the flats could make their own price. I accepted it and went to sign the final papers at Mr. Hardcastle’s office, expecting an atmosphere of

Edvard Munch Puberty 1894 painting

>from Henty and arriving back in Southampton engaged to the lady of his first choice, whom he immediately married.
In Brazil the officials to whom their credentials were addressed were all out of power. While Henty and Professor Anderson negotiated with the new administrators, Dr. Simmons proceeded up river to Boa Vista where he established a base camp with the greater part of the stores. These were instantly commandeered by the revolutionary garrison, and he himself imprisoned for some days and subjected to various humiliations which so enraged him that, when released, he made promptly for the coast, stopping at Manáos only long enough to inform his colleagues that he insisted on leaving his case personally before the central authorities at Rio.
Thus, while they were still a month’s journey from the start of their labours, Henty and Professor Anderson found themselves alone and deprived of the greater part of their supplies. The ignominy of immediate return was not to be borne. For a short time they

Henri Rousseau The Sleeping Gypsy painting

that was my uncle Hugh. My father was in India almost all his life. He died there.”
“Oh, I don’t think he can have done that,” said Lady Emily; “I don’t believe he even went there—did he, Charles?”
“Who? what?”
“Hugh Vaughan never went to India, did he?”
“No, no, of course not. He sold Oakshott and went to live in Hampshire somewhere. He never went to India in .”
At this moment another old lady, almost indistinguishable from Lady Emily, came into the room.
“This is Mr. Vaughan, my dear. You remember his father at Oakshott, don’t you? He’s going to take Stayle abroad—my sister, Lady Gertrude.”
Lady Gertrude smiled brightly and took my hand.
“Now I knew there was someone coming to luncheon, and then I saw Byng carrying in the vegetables a quarter of an hour ago. I thought, now he ought to be at Vanburgh meeting the train.”

Henri Rousseau The Snake Charmer painting

interesting in itself. What's more it's of the first practical importance, clearly. Now, if you'll excuse me. . ."
But they blocked my way.
"AorB?" the young scholar demanded. "If you can't remember what you ate, boy, tell us what you think, and we'll let you go." His superior tut-tutted at this show of coerciveness, but my inquisitor frankly declared that accuracy and thoroughness in scholarly matters were his only values in this flunkèd University, and that as a truly revolutionary researcher he would not hesitate to resort to terrorism if necessary to gain his ends. He didn't give a flunk, he said, whetherA orB was "true" in the philosophical sense -- all such mystical formulations, in fact, he regarded as superstitious mumbo-jumbo: their authors knaves, their Tutees fools -- but upon their like was constructed the whole mad edifice of campus history, for a clear understanding whereof it was absolutely essential to have accurate texts, "believe" them or not.
"Do youhave an opinion?" he asked me wryly.
I smiled, as I had done through the whole episode. "Yes."
"Then let's have it." He clacked the shears grimly. "We'll let WESCAC decide what it's worth."

Arthur Hughes The King's Orchard painting

though I'd deemed it flunkèd, in West Campus anyhow, not to assist him, I also recognized the final futility of assistance, and so tarried no longer.
"Wait!" he cried more desperately. "It's earlier than you think; I can tell by the moonshadows! It's only quarter till ten!"
Sure enough, Tower Clock sounded the three-quarter melody as he spoke, and if the coming hour was indeed ten, it was not so late as I'd have supposed. But that fact was of no importance to me.
"Ha!" the student leader exclaimed. "Hear that? Quarter till! Much obliged, old man!" And laughing at their adversary's inadvertent gift, which it plainly chagrined him to have bestowed, they left him in peace, for the time being at least -- except one small faction opposed to private charity and another to the forcible extortion of information, both of whom now laid on with their placards.
"Aren't you going to re-advise him?" Stoker demanded sarcastically.
I knew what reply to make; but just then the Great-Mall streetlights -- those

View of Venice

said) one centimeter, on hermons veneris three. The girth of her forehead was fifty-nine centimeters, of her neck thirty-one, of her chest ninety, of her waist sixty-five, of her hips eighty-eight, of her upper arms twenty-three. Her forehead was seven centimeters high. The maximum arch of her eyebrows was half a centimeter; she could elevate them by three times that amount. Her eyes measured 1.7 by 3.2 centimeters and were set eight centimeters apart from pupil to pupil. The span of her smile was six centimeters, of her shoulders forty-one, of her fingers twenty, of her arms one hundred sixty-seven. Her right arm was longer than her left by a centimeter, measured from armpit to fingertip. Her lips projected from the plane of her face by the same amount; her ears from the side of her head by slightly more. Her breasts were not easy to measure, owing to their resiliency; their projection from the plane of her chest, for example, varied from four and a half centimeters supine through six standing to nine bent over, and there appeared to be a centimeter's difference in pendulosity between them, as between the length of her arms; the distance

Diego Rivera paintings

Thinking he saw what was afoot, Stoker joined in happily: "You didn't think it was reallyStacey you jumped on, did you? My wife's a virgin, Greene!"
"Ibe durn," Greene said stiffly. "You can't fool me."
"No, I swear it!" Stoker cried, and feigned a whisper. "I was born with no balls, see, and Stacey's got a thing about dildos. Look, I'll show you." He seemed prepared to open his trousers for our inspection -- whether in earnest or not I never learned, for Greene professed disbelief and disgust, at the same time blushing with hopeful doubt.
"You can't tellme she's a virgin!" he said. "Not after what I done to her!"
His tone implied that he could nonetheless entertain the fantastic idea of her having been unserviced thitherto -- despite what he'd seen and heard! I considered suggesting that he himself had deflowered her in the alley. But I hesitated, uncertain whether that notion would please him or burden him with new guilt. Either way, I decided, the responsibility might involve him with My Ladyship in a manner not conducive to restoring his marriage, and my

Vincent van Gogh Almond Branches in Bloom painting

Calling his attention to the seventh and final task, I observed that no signatures on the Assignment-list itself seemed called for, only on the matriculation- (i.e., ID-) card -- which too there was apparently no need for him to sign, only to inspect.
"Sure, sure," he agreed at once, as if he'd known that fact as well as his own name, but had forgot it for half a second. "Unless You want me to initial it just for form's sake. . ."
Inspecting the card myself as he talked, I saw that Bray had printedWESCAC in the "Father" blank and signed his own name as "Examiner." I borrowed Reginald Hector's borrowed pen, scratched through the nameGeorge I'd signed earlier, and after it, on the same line, printedGILES.
"Keep it, keep it," he said of the pen, and took the card. Instantly he reddened. "What's this?"
I offered the pen to its first owner, who, however, stepped back with a little embarrassed sign.
"Something wrong?" I asked the ex-Chancellor. "Here -- initial it after my title, if you like."
"Isee," he said, drawing the words out as if he'd caught on to a tease

Johannes Vermeer Girl with a Pearl Earring painting

Gustav Klimt The Three Ages of Woman painting twin, could be the GILES, eitheralso orinstead; that possibility was precluded by both the Cum Laude program and the fact that twins of different sexes are not genetically identical.
"That's enough," I declared. "Open the Belly."
"One more," Bray said, and handed me a card which WESCAC produced without his pulling the lever. As if he knew its message already (though he'd not apparently read it), he added, "Most important of all, eh?"already, from last time."
"I'll bet it is." I foiled what I took to be his strategem by producing the card I'd got that morning from Ira Hector. But if Bray was surprised at my having one after all, he managed to conceal the fact. Moreovergrasped my stick, ready to strike should he assault me in his death-throes. But when the doors opened -- on a red-glimmering chamber, lined with racks of flat round cans stacked edgewise from floor to ceiling -- nothing happened.
"This is what they call the Mouth," Bray said, stepping out. He gave a little sigh, as if loath to end the other conversation. "We'll use it for presenting our credentials. The Belly itself is through a little door over there, which WESCAC has to open."
"Sothat's it!" I too stepped from the