This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1901 edition. Excerpt: ...Not much of that sort of thing about me, I'm afraid, ' the girl replied, laughing. ' To tell you the truth, Mr. Bufton, I was curious. I'd read such dreadful things about artists and artists' studios, and I wanted to see with my own eyes what Charlie's workshop was like.' Here she raised the eyeglass, and ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1901 edition. Excerpt: ...Not much of that sort of thing about me, I'm afraid, ' the girl replied, laughing. ' To tell you the truth, Mr. Bufton, I was curious. I'd read such dreadful things about artists and artists' studios, and I wanted to see with my own eyes what Charlie's workshop was like.' Here she raised the eyeglass, and glanced again round the studio. ' I don't see anything very improper. Things are a little chaotic and not particularly clean, that s all. With the help of a charwoman the place might be made to look quite respectable.' As she spoke, lightly and airily, her eyes fell on a piano standing in a corner of the room--an old semi-grand, on the top of which were piled all sorts of odds and ends. ' Why, there's actually a piano!' she exclaimed, walking over to the instrument, and throwing it open; then, moving her fingers rapidly over the keys, she continued: ' Awfully out of tune, as I expected.' ' It's not often used, ' explained Bufton. ' Leroy plays a little, and now and then one of the models amuses herself with it.' Meantime Ethel had drawn a chair to the piano, no music-stool being available, and seating herself, had taken off her gloves and begun to play. It was clear that she was an accomplished musician. She began with the air of an old German folksong, passed from that to the motif of a sonata by Beethoven, and then, without the slightest transition, struck the notes of a street song, then very popular, ' In the Strand.' ' My dear Ethel, ' cried Mrs. Somerset, ' for goodness' sake don't play that horribly vulgar thing! If you must play, let it be something different. You know how Charles loves to hear you when you play those lovely sonatas.' Do you, Charlie?' asked Ethel, glancing over her shoulder. ' Of course I do!' said Somerset, with a lame
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