. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. The Oriental has no equivalent. When the woollen-draper was nearly worn out, the Amazon watched her opportunity, and hitting him on the arm, disabled it. ‘Not where we’re going. Don't worry about me. I'd have got something nice. One morning he caught her hand suddenly and kissed it.
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