She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. That is good. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 01:20:52