‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. “If only her sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians talking. ” John said to Lucy. He took Diane out. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic.
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