The Tragedy of a Picture
The Tragedy of a Picture
A Tale of a Chelsea Studio
Book Excerpt
made me look beggarly enough, in all conscience," he said, with a short laugh. "I suppose that was what you wanted to do?"
"I suppose it was," answered his brother, in no mood for discussion.
He stood, with his hands in his pockets, staring at Jack, and wishing from his whole heart he could bring back the haggard, hunted look to the man's eyes. The stamps of vice were disappearing from his brother's lineaments. He was beginning to wear the look of one who was braced for a fight.
The artist turned back again towards his picture. He saw that the original design was exactly as his brain had planned it. The canvas, too, was now almost complete. If he obtained another model the work of many months must inevitably be wasted, and Studio Sunday would find his work incomplete.
He remained motionless, his legs wide apart, his teeth gnawing his lip impatiently. Jack was looking puzzled. He did not understand the predicament in which his altered appearance had placed the artist.
"Well,
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All in all, not a bad novelette, but not apaticualy good one either. it's a litle bit too short and has no character development . But to it's merit, it did leave an impact on me, altough the story could have been much better in terms of almost everything. Has potential but not much more
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