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Thackeray, William Makepeace, 1811-1863

"The Best British Short Stories of 1922"

For my own part, I am well assured that at no
period of its being has the picture been tampered with, and it is a
matter of no small surprise to me, sir, that an artist of your
undoubted quality and achievement should hold a contrary opinion. We
are, greatly obliged for the courtesy of your visit and trust that you
will feel after this liberal discussion that your conscience is free
from further responsibility in the matter. Good-day."
That was the end of the interview. Once again the door was slammed in
the little Madonna's face.
That night the man told his wife all about it. "So you see," he
concluded, "there is nothing more I can do."
But she lay awake and puzzled and yearned long after he had fallen
asleep. And once she rose and peeped into the room that used to be the
nursery. It was a changed room now, for the child had grown up, and
where once pigs and chickens and huntsmen had jostled in happy,
farmyard disorder upon the walls, now there were likenesses of Owen
Nares and Henry Ainley, obligingly autographed.
But for her the spirit prevailed, the kindly bars still ribbed the
windows and the sense of sleeping children still haunted the air.


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