"It's queer about finished
pictures," she laughed; "they're not half so great and satisfying as the
pictures you are going to do next." It went through her with a sharp pain
to see Karl hurting his eyes as she knew he was hurting them. She could
not understand his insistence; it was not like him to be so unreasonable.
And he looked so terribly--so worn and ill; if only he would go to bed
and let her take care of him! But he seemed intent on knowing all there
was to know about the pictures. A strange whim for him to cling to this
way! As he looked he wanted her to talk about them--tell just what this
and that meant, insisting upon getting the full significance of it all.
He had never before appreciated her firm grasp. Her work in these
different stages of evolution gave him a clearer idea of how much she had
worked and studied, how seriously and intelligently she had set out for
the mastery of her craft. He had always known that the poetic impulses
were there, the desire to express, the ideas, the delight in colour, but
he saw now the other things; this was letting him into the workman's side
of her work.
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