But I should finish it, if I were you.

If you had the courage to paint in the right sort of face--the girl, you know." "What sort of face, then ?" "Sharp-nosed, thin-lipped, rather anaemic, with a universe of self-conceit in the eye." "They wouldn't hang it, and nobody would buy it.

Besides, Warburton, you're wrong if you think the slummers are always that sort.

Still, I'm not sure I shan't do it, out of spite.

There's another reason, too--I hate beautiful women; I don't think I shall ever be able to paint another." He sprang up, and paced, as of old, about the room.