I turned away, regretting that I had gone to the window and looked out.
"This was not an agreeable train of thought to follow.

What could I do?
I was answered by the impulse which commands me to paint.
"I sharpened my pencils, and opened my box of colors, and determined to produce a work of art.

To my astonishment, the brutal figure of the carter forced its way into my memory again and again.

It (without in the least knowing why) as if the one chance of getting rid of this curious incubus, was to put the persistent image of the man on paper.

It was done mechanically, and yet done so well, that I was encouraged to add to the picture.