There were a great many arm-chairs and settees covered in brown holland, but each of these was occupied by a large square piece of yellow cardboard, and all the pieces of cardboard were dotted or lined with spots or dashes of bright oil paint.
"But you're not to look at those," said Mrs.Flushing as she saw Rachel's eye wander.

She jumped up, and turned as many as she could, face downwards, upon the floor.

Rachel, however, managed to possess herself of one of them, and, with the vanity of an artist, Mrs.Flushing demanded anxiously, "Well, well ?" "It's a hill," Rachel replied.

There could be no doubt that Mrs.
Flushing had represented the vigorous and abrupt fling of the earth up into the air; you could almost see the clods flying as it whirled.
Rachel passed from one to another.

They were all marked by something of the jerk and decision of their maker; they were all perfectly untrained onslaughts of the brush upon some half-realised idea suggested by hill or tree; and they were all in some way characteristic of Mrs.Flushing.
"I see things movin'," Mrs.Flushing explained.