The Fulness Of Life
A Venetian Night's Entertainment
Verse: Botticelli's Madonna In The Louvre
The Tomb Of Ilaria Giunigi
An Autumn Sunset
lture"; and with such absorbing work ahead no existence could be too sequestered; they could not get far enough from the world, or plunge deep enough into the past.
Dorsetshire had attracted them from the first by a semblance of remoteness out of all proportion to its geographical position. But to the Boynes it was one of the ever-recurring wonders of the whole incredibly compressed island--a nest of counties, as they put it--that for the production of its effects so little of a given quality went so far: that so few miles made a distance, and so short a distance a difference.
"It's that," Ned had once enthusiastically explained, "that gives such depth to their effects, such relief to their least contrasts. They've been able to lay the butter so thick on every exquisite mouthful."
The butter had certainly been laid on thick at Lyng: the old gray house, hidden under a shoulder of the downs, had almost all the finer marks of commerce with a protracted past. The mere fact that it was neither large nor