Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 8, 2025
Flanders; nor what happened when they paid the bill and left the restaurant, and walked along the Boulevard Raspaille. Then here is another scrap of conversation; the time about eleven in the morning; the scene a studio; and the day Sunday. "I tell you, Flanders," said Cruttendon, "I'd as soon have one of Mallinson's little pictures as a Chardin.
"'Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle," Mallinson interrupted, strumming his fingers on the table. "The most ex-qui-sitely beautiful thing in the whole of literature. ... Cruttendon is a very good fellow," he remarked confidentially. "But he's a bit of a fool." And he jerked his head forward. Well, not a word of this was ever told to Mrs.
"But you don't count," said Jinny, looking at Cruttendon. "You're mad. I mean, you just think of painting." "Yes, I know. I can't help it. I say, will King George give way about the peers?" "He'll jolly well have to," said Jacob. "There!" said Jinny. "He really knows." "You see, I would if I could," said Cruttendon, "but I simply can't." "I THINK I could," said Jinny.
"Have you met all the painter men?" said Jinny. "Was Mallinson drunk? If you go to his studio he'll give you one of his pictures. I say, Teddy ..." "Half a jiff," said Cruttendon. "What's the season of the year?" He looked out of the window. "We take a day off on Sundays, Flanders." "Will he ..." said Jinny, looking at Jacob. "You ..." "Yes, he'll come with us," said Cruttendon.
Those fat women and the man standing in the middle of the road as if he were going to have a fit ..." "Everybody feeds them," said Jinny, waving the pigeons away. "They're stupid old things." "Well, I don't know," said Jacob, smoking his cigarette. "There's St. Paul's." "I mean going to an office," said Cruttendon. "Hang it all," Jacob expostulated.
Miss Jinny Carslake, pale, freckled, morbid, came into the room. "Oh Jinny, here's a friend. Flanders. An Englishman. Wealthy. Highly connected. Go on, Flanders. ..." Jacob said nothing. "It's THAT that's not right," said Jinny Carslake. "No," said Cruttendon decidedly. "Can't be done." He took the canvas off the chair and stood it on the floor with its back to them.
"You needn't repeat the whole damned thing over again, Cruttendon," said Mallinson, the little bald painter who was sitting at a marble table, splashed with coffee and ringed with wine, talking very fast, and undoubtedly more than a little drunk.
"Only, it's all the people one dislikes who do it. At home, I mean. They talk of nothing else. Even people like my mother." "Now if I came and lived here " said Jacob. "What's my share, Cruttendon? Oh, very well. Have it your own way. Those silly birds, directly one wants them they've flown away."
Edward Cruttendon, Jinny Carslake, and Jacob Flanders walked in a row along the yellow gravel path; got on to the grass; so passed under the trees; and came out at the summer-house where Marie Antoinette used to drink chocolate. In went Edward and Jinny, but Jacob waited outside, sitting on the handle of his walking-stick. Out they came again. "Well?" said Cruttendon, smiling at Jacob.
"Wants to cut people off their drink. Look here. I want grilled bone. What's the French for grilled bone? Grilled bone, Adolphe. Now you juggins, don't you understand?" "And I'll tell you, Flanders, the second most beautiful thing in the whole of literature," said Cruttendon, bringing his feet down on to the floor, and leaning right across the table, so that his face almost touched Jacob's face.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking