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Updated: May 1, 2025
"Bad," remarked Lorenzo in cordial agreement. He had finished the sugar. "Damn bad." "What!" cried Don "have you got old Crozier's Lorenzo down here? Hullo! let us see how you have 'percepted' him." He crossed to the easel, surveying Flamby's painting critically. "Does Hammett still talk about 'percepting the subject' and 'emerging the high-lights' and 'profunding the shadows'?" "He does.
Miss Kingsbury, of High Fielding, the local Lady Butler, hearing of Sir Jacques' protégée, as she heard of everything else in the county, sent a message of honeyed sweetness to Flamby, desiring her to call and bring some of her work. Flamby had never forgotten the visit. The honey of Miss Kingsbury was honey of Trebizond, and it poisoned poor Flamby's happiness for many a day.
"I don't know to what extent your service has depleted your exchequer, and how far you can afford to pursue the Quixotic, but for my own part all I have is at your disposal and at Flamby's." "I shall see that no such demand is made upon you. But you must come and visit her, Paul. She has few friends." "Poor little girl. I will come when you like, Don.
The rich colour fled from her cheeks and her oval face assumed that even, dusky hue which was a danger signal, but which Orlando James failed to recognise for one. "I don't want to kiss you; I want to see the picture." "And I don't want you to see the picture until you have kissed me," replied James, smiling confidently and clasping his arm around Flamby's shoulders.
And as he spoke Flamby's resolution became as naught, and she knew that to hear him and to share his dreams was worth any sacrifice of self-esteem. Never since her father's death had she had a confidant to whom she might speak of her imaginings, from whom she might hope for sympathy and understanding. She forgot her shyness, forgot her new shoes. "I have always loved the moon," she confessed.
The subterfuge, ostrich-like, woman-like, finally was adopted; and meeting Sir Jacques in Babylon Lane she managed to greet him civilly, employing her mother's poor state of health as an excuse for discontinuing her visits to Hatton Towers. But if Flamby's passionate spirit had had its way Sir Jacques that day must have met the fate of Candaules at the hands of this modern Nyssia.
Now, Flamby extending one motionless hand, the gaudily-striped insect alighted upon her finger and began busily to march from thence to the rosy tip of the next, and so on until it reached Flamby's little curved thumb.
"You are a tantalising little devil," said James, his dull brain seeking vainly a clue to the cause of Flamby's obduracy. Flamby, meanwhile maturing her plan, made the next move. "Is the Keats picture to be more important than The Circassian?" she asked naively. "Of course," James replied, believing that at last a clue was his. "I have told you that it will be my masterpiece."
Don't you think it may be just as well, dear?" "I don't know," said Flamby, looking up slowly. "I'm not quite sure that I do. Has your furniture arrived, dear?" "Not yet, Aunt," replied Don on Flamby's behalf. "Most of it will have to be purchased, and I thought you might give Flamby some sort of a notion what to buy. Then we could trot off up town and get things." "How delightful.
And I love the birds and the animals, and oh!" her voice rose excitedly "don't kill it!" A wasp was humming dangerously about Paul's head, and although his love of all things that had life was as strong as Flamby's, the self-protective instinct had led him to endeavour to knock the wasp away.
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