Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A Harvest Festival painting

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A Harvest Festival paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A coign of vantage paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema Caracalla and Geta painting
another’s arms as though from shelter after a storm ... “So that’s over. Was it as bad as you expected?” “Worse, worse. You were splendid” ... perhaps they—and Julia too?—were cutting a caper on the drawing-room carpet in an ecstasy of liberation.
“That,” I said to myself, “is what you have bought with your five pounds.”
That evening, next day and for several days, I disliked Lucy. I made a story for all who knew him, of Roger’s dinner party, leaving the impression that this was the kind of life Lucy enjoyed and that she was driving Roger into it. But for all that I did not abate my resolve to force my friendship upon her. I can give no plausible account of this inconsistency. I was certainly not, consciously, in love with her. I did not, even, at that time find her conspicuously beautiful. In seeking her friendship I did not look for affection nor, exactly, for esteem. I sought recognition. I wanted to assert the simple fact of my separate and individual existence. I could not by any effort of will regard her as being, like Trixie, “one of Roger’s girls,” and I demanded reciprocation; I would not be regarded as, like Basil,