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On that visit he had as never before commissioned a copy of a fresco painting called "La Vendimia," wherein was the figure of a girl with an arm akimbo, who had reminded him of his daughter. He had it now in the Gallery at Mapledurham, and rather poor it was you couldn't copy Goya.
Goya was not booming at the moment, but he would come again; and, looking at that portrait, Hogarthian, Manetesque in its directness, but with its own queer sharp beauty of paint, he was perfectly satisfied still that he had made no error, heavy though the price had been heaviest he had ever paid. And next to it was hanging the copy of "La Vendimia."
He could not tell, for instance, whether she had noticed his absorption in that Goya picture, "La Vendimia," or whether she knew that he had slipped back there after lunch and again next morning, to stand before it full half an hour, a second and third time.
He could not tell, for instance, whether she had noticed his absorption in that Goya picture, "La Vendimia," or whether she knew that he had slipped back there after lunch and again next morning, to stand before it full half an hour, a second and third time.
On that visit he had as never before commissioned a copy of a fresco painting called "La Vendimia," wherein was the figure of a girl with an arm akimbo, who had reminded him of his daughter. He had it now in the Gallery at Mapledurham, and rather poor it was you couldn't copy Goya.
"Grape colour," came the whisper, "all grapes La Vendimia the vintage." Jon's fingers scarcely touched each side of the waist; he looked up, with adoring eyes. "Oh! Jon," it whispered; bent, kissed his forehead, pirouetted again, and, gliding out, was gone. Jon stayed on his knees, and his head fell forward against the bed. How long he stayed like that he did not know.
On that visit he had as never before commissioned a copy of a fresco painting called "La Vendimia," wherein was the figure of a girl with an arm akimbo, who had reminded him of his daughter. He had it now in the Gallery at Mapledurham, and rather poor it was you couldn't copy Goya.
He hoped they were making that chap Profond run. And the girl in "La Vendimia" stood with her arm akimbo and her dreamy eyes looking past him. 'I've done all I could for you, he thought, 'since you were no higher than my knee. You aren't going to to hurt me, are you? But the Goya copy answered not, brilliant in colour just beginning to tone down. 'There's no real life in it, thought Soames.
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