Don Orsino by F. Marion (Francis Marion) Crawford
page 30 of 574 (05%)
page 30 of 574 (05%)
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of fashion. I know it. Then we will go back to first principles. A
garret to live in, bread and salad for dinner. Of course--what do you expect? That need not prevent us from living in a palace as long as we can." Thereupon Anastase Gouache hummed a very lively little song as he squeezed a few colours from the tubes. Orsino's face betrayed his discontentment. "I was not in earnest," he said. "At least, not as to becoming an artist. I only asked the question to be sure that you would answer it just as everybody answers all questions of the kind--by discouraging my wish do anything for myself." "Why should you do anything? You are so rich!" "What everybody says! Do you know what we rich men, or we men who are to be rich, are expected to be? Farmers. It is not gay." "It would be my dream--pastoral, you know--Normandy cows, a river with reeds, perpetual Angelus, bread and milk for supper. I adore milk. A nymph here and there--at your age, it is permitted. My dear friend, why not be a farmer?" Orsino laughed a little, in spite of himself. "I suppose that is an artist's idea of farming." "As near the truth as a farmer's idea of art, I daresay," retorted Gouache. |
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