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Updated: May 22, 2025
Nothing remains to tell that the poor Welsh puddler once lived, but this figure of the mill-woman cut in korl. I have it here in a corner of my library. I keep it hid behind a curtain, it is such a rough, ungainly thing. Yet there are about it touches, grand sweeps of outline, that show a master's hand.
Here, boy, this gentleman can show you how to cut korl better, or your destiny. Go on, May!" "I think a mocking devil possesses you to-night," rejoined the Doctor, seriously. He went to Wolfe and put his hand kindly on his arm.
Hugh rasped away at the bars. A dull old bit of tin, not fit to cut korl with. He looked out of the window again. People were leaving the market now. A tall mulatto girl, following her mistress, her basket on her head, crossed the street just below, and looked up. She was laughing; but, when she caught sight of the haggard face peering out through the bars, suddenly grew grave, and hurried by.
Korl we call it here: a light, porous substance, of a delicate, waxen, flesh-colored tinge. Out of the blocks of this korl, Wolfe, in his off-hours from the furnace, had a habit of chipping and moulding figures, hideous, fantastic enough, but sometimes strangely beautiful: even the mill-men saw that, while they jeered at him. It was a curious fancy in the man, almost a passion.
Nothing remains to tell that the poor Welsh puddler once lived, but this figure of the mill-woman cut in korl. I have it here in a corner of my library. I keep it hid behind a curtain, it is such a rough, ungainly thing. Yet there are about it touches, grand sweeps of outline, that show a master's hand.
"I thought it was alive," he said, going up curiously. The others followed. "Not marble, eh?" asked Kirby, touching it. One of the lower overseers stopped. "Korl, Sir." "Who did it?" "Can't say. Some of the hands; chipped it out in off-hours." "Chipped to some purpose, I should say. What a flesh-tint the stuff has! Do you see, Mitchell?" "I see."
Here, boy, this gentleman can show you how to cut korl better, or your destiny. Go on, May!" "I think a mocking devil possesses you to-night," rejoined the Doctor, seriously. He went to Wolfe and put his hand kindly on his arm.
Korl we call it here: a light, porous substance, of a delicate, waxen, flesh-colored tinge. Out of the blocks of this korl, Wolfe, in his off-hours from the furnace, had a habit of chipping and moulding figures, hideous, fantastic enough, but sometimes strangely beautiful: even the mill-men saw that, while they jeered at him. It was a curious fancy in the man, almost a passion.
"I thought it was alive," he said, going up curiously. The others followed. "Not marble, eh?" asked Kirby, touching it. One of the lower overseers stopped. "Korl, Sir." "Who did it?" "Can't say. Some of the hands; chipped it out in off-hours." "Chipped to some purpose, I should say. What a flesh-tint the stuff has! Do you see, Mitchell?" "I see."
Hugh rasped away at the bars. A dull old bit of tin, not fit to cut korl with. He looked out of the window again. People were leaving the market now. A tall mulatto girl, following her mistress, her basket on her head, crossed the street just below, and looked up. She was laughing; but, when she caught sight of the haggard face peering out through the bars, suddenly grew grave, and hurried by.
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