Unfinished Portraits: Stories of Musicians and Artists

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Charles Scribner's Sons, 1916 - American fiction - 253 pages
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Page 244 - The clean-cut face was compact and expressionless. "Give! I would give" — her eye swept the apartment with its wealth of canvas and gilt and tapestry — "I would give all, everything in the room" — she raised a knotted hand toward the picture — "to know that Albrecht Diirer's monogram belongs there." The pointing finger trembled a little. He looked at it reflectively. Then his glance travelled about the great room. "Everything in this room," he said slowly. "That means — " He paused, glancing...
Page 84 - I haf seen the young Fraulein before," he said, indicating the younger with his fat hand. The dark, round eyes gazed at him expressionless. His spectacles returned the gaze and twinkled. "She has come into the receptionroom while you were explaining about the voice of Fraulein Marie," he said, with a glance at the other sister.
Page 100 - His face lighted as he grasped the pencil more firmly in his fingers, moistening it at his thick lips; he approached the open window. He peered uncertainly into the dim room. By the fireplace stood a lithe, quick figure, sorting the pile of linen at her side. As she lifted each delicate piece she examined it for holes or rents.
Page 241 - He motioned toward a small canvas. "Is it not enough?" Her eyes turned to it and flashed in disdain. "The Sodom and Gomorrah!" She spoke scornfully. "Not so much as a copy!" /'It is signed." She glanced at it again. There was shrewd intolerance in the old eyes. "Do you think I cannot tell ?" she said grimly. "I know the work of Albrecht Diirer, length and breadth, line for line. You say he painted that !" She pointed a swift finger at the picture across the room. "Have ye looked at Lot's legs?
Page 227 - She spoke with level coolness. " I had read the paper." \Yith a grunt of satisfaction, he turned again to the canvas. A smothered oath broke from his lips. He leaned forward, incredulous. His round eyes, bulging and blue, searched every corner. They fell on the wet brush and bit of color. He turned on her fiercely. " Jezebel ! " he hissed, " you have painted it out. I saw him sign it — years ago — twenty - five years ! " She smiled serenely. " It may have been some other one,
Page 82 - Rosine was giving him the family history — you and me." They giggled again. The younger one drew down her face and folded her hands in matronly dignity, gazing pensively at the blue-and-white stove, her head a little to one side. "My own voice is alto, Herr Schubert, and my daughter Caroline's; but my daughter Marie has a beautiful soprano.
Page 102 - Waugh!" he said. She laughed musically. He replaced the spectacles, and looked at her more kindly. She was leaning on the other side of the casing, her arms folded on the sill. Her saucy face was tilted to his. He bent suddenly, and kissed it full on the mouth. She started back, fetching him a ringing slap on the cheek. "You ugly thing!" she said. She laughed. Franz gazed serenely at the sky, a pleased smile on his lips. "You're too ugly to look at,
Page 129 - ... Slowly he turned his big, homely face and looked at her, but the music did not cease. It hovered in the air above, high and pure and sweet. The face of the young countess bent lower; a look of tenderness waited in her subtle eyes. He sprang to his feet, his hands outstretched to ward it off.
Page 241 - Her head bowed itself above the papers. The young man's eyes followed them. He turned to the old woman beside him. "Is it something about — the picture?" he asked. She nodded sharply. "Private papers of Willibald Pirkheimer," she said, "ancestor of the von Herkomers — sixteenth century. He was a friend of Diirer's.
Page 254 - ... In the square of light an old woman groped toward the picture. Her knotted hands were lifted to it. Close at hand, a camera tucked under his arm, the laboratory assistant stood— on his round, practical face the happy look of successful experiment. A little distance away the Herr Doctor Professor moved quickly. The one with the rose looked up. High above them all — on the great easel, struck by a ray of light from the shutter — the Di'irer face of Sorrow — out of its four hundred years...

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