Digital heart book

My
errand would have been difficult enough under the best
of circumstances: placed between Myner, immersed in his
art, and the white, fat, naked female in a ridiculous
attitude, I found it quite impossible. Again and again
I attempted to approach the point, again and again fell
back on commendations of the picture; and it was not
until the model had enjoyed an interval of repose,
during which she took the conversation in her own hands
and regaled us (in a soft, weak voice) with details as
to her husband's prosperity, her sister's lamented
decline from the paths of virtue, and the consequent
wrath of her father, a peasant of stern principles, in
the vicinity of Chalons on the Marne--it was not, I
say, until after this was over, and I had once more
cleared my throat for the attack, and once more dropped
aside into some commonplace about the picture, that
Myner himself brought me suddenly and vigorously to the
point.
"You didn't come here to talk this rot," said he.
"No," I replied sullenly; "I came to borrow money."
He painted a while in silence.


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