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Kirsty took from her pocket an old translation of Plato's Phaedo, and sat absorbed in it until the star, unheeded of her, attained its goal, and there was Steenie by her side! She shut the book and rose. 'I'm a heap better, Kirsty, said Steenie. 'The ill colour's awa doon the stair, and the saft win' 's made its w'y oot o' the lift, an' 's won at me. I 'maist think a han' cam and clappit my heid.
She noticed his colour, and attributed it to the embarrassment of a scrupulously gallant gentleman caught in a lapse of attention to a lady. "Don't be disturbed," she said, benevolently. "People aren't expected to listen all the time to their relatives. A high colour's very becoming to you, Arthur; but it really isn't necessary between cousins.
'What have I done? cried Lady Clonbrony, following her son's eyes: 'Lord bless me! Grace fainted dead lady Berryl? Oh, what have I done? My dear Lady Berryl, what shall we do? 'There! her colour's coming again, said Lord Clonbrony; 'come away, my dear Lady Clonbrony, for the present, and so will I though I long to talk to the darling girl myself; but she is not equal to it yet.
One colour's just as good as another, and I may as well keep the complexion of my good friend, the Dragon, in countenance. So you wont forget, it is Mister Green, at the Green Dragon, in the Green Lane at the back of Beaufort House; and now, Mister Brown, I leave you a brown study, to carry you on your way."
"Nay, nay," said Mr. Poyser, with rather a contemptuous emphasis, "thee dostna know the pints of a woman. The men 'ud niver run after Dinah as they would after Hetty." "What care I what the men 'ud run after? It's well seen what choice the most of 'em know how to make, by the poor draggle-tails o' wives you see, like bits o' gauze ribbin, good for nothing when the colour's gone."
And his colour's prophetic of the Horse to come, that rides over all. 'Lion and Unicorn signify the conquest of the two hemispheres, Matter and Mind, said Dr. Forbery. 'The Lion there's no mistake about. The Unicorn sets you thinking. So it's a splendid Standard, and means the more for not being perfectly intelligible at a glance.
Jaap, who, missing us on rising, supposed we had gone in pursuit of game, had followed us into the hut, and heard my communications. His indignation was great, at the idea of one of his own colour's being thus treated, and I heard him vowing vengeance between his set teeth, in terms that were by no means measured. "By St.
Eugène Carrière also asserted that a "picture is the logical development of light." Monticelli before him had said: "In a painting one must sound the C. Rembrandt, Rubens, Watteau, all the great ones have sounded the C." His C, his key-note, was the magic touch of luminosity that dominated his picture. Like Berlioz, he adored colour for colour's sake.
And I tell 'ee what I'm thinking. That marn's a piebald, Teddy. Black here and white there in patches. And he's ashamed of it. He's a kind of half-breed, and the colour's come off patchy instead of mixing. I've heard of such things before. And it's the common way with horses, as any one can see."
'You want to do landscapes with cattle knee-deep in grass to hide bad drawing. You want to do a great deal more than you can do. You have sense of colour, but you want form. Colour's a gift, put it aside and think no more about it, but form you can be drilled into. Now, all your fancy heads and some of them are very good will keep you exactly where you are.
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