Peter Paul Rubens paintings

Peter Paul Rubens paintings
Rudolf Ernst paintings
Robert Campin paintings
Well, she won’t want you.”
“Pobble, you sound awfully feeble.”
“Who wouldn’t who’s only had one carrot in the last three days.”
“Oh, you are brave.”
“Yes.”
“How’s mummy?”
“Your mother is not keeping the régime as strictly as I am.”
“I bet she isn’t. Anyway, please, can I go back to London?”
“No.”
“You mean ‘No’?”
“Yes.”
“Fiend.”
Basil had gone hungry before. From time to time in his varied youth, in desert, tundra, glacier and jungle, in garrets and cellars, he had briefly endured extremities of privation. Now in the periods of repose and solitude, after the steam bath and the smarting deluge of the showers, after the long thumping and twisting by the huge masseuse, when the chintz curtains were drawn in his bedroom and he lay towel-wrapped and supine gazing at the pattern of the ceiling paper, familiar, forgotten pangs spoke to him of his past achievements