Andrea Mantegna paintings

Andrea Mantegna paintings
Arthur Hughes paintings
Albert Bierstadt paintings
o’clock. He let himself into what should have been the empty and silent house. came from the room on the ground floor where small parties congregated before luncheon and dinner. It was a dark room, hung with tapestry and furnished with Bühl. There he found his daughter, dressed in pajamas and one of her mother’s fur coats, seated on the floor with her face caressing a transistor radio. Behind her in the fireplace large lumps of coal lay on the ashes of the sticks and paper which had failed to kindle them.
“Darling Pobble, never more welcome. I didn’t expect you till Monday and I should have been dead by then. I can’t make out how the central heating works. I thought the whole point of it was it just turned on and didn’t need a man. Can’t get the fire to burn. And don’t start: ‘Babs, what are you doing here?’ I’m freezing, that’s what.”
“Turn that damn thing off.”
In the silence Barbara regarded her father more intently. “Darling, what have they been doing to you? You aren’t yourself at all. You’re tottering. Not my fine stout Pobble at all.