David Hardy paintings

David Hardy paintings
Dirck Bouts paintings
Dante Gabriel Rossetti paintings
She had spent the afternoon with looking glass and makeup box. The new substance of her face fulfilled all the surgeon’s promises. It took paint to perfection. Clara had given herself a full mask as though for the lights of the stage; an even creamy white with sudden high spots of crimson on the cheekbones, huge hard crimson lips, eyebrows extended and turned up catwise, the eyes shaded all round with ultramarine and dotted at the corners with crimson.
“You’re the first to see me,” she said. “I was half-afraid you wouldn’t come. You seemed cross yesterday.”
“I wanted to see the television,” said Miles. “It’s so crowded at the hostel.”
“So dull today. Nothing except this prison that has been burned down.”
“I was there myself. Don’t you remember? I often talked of it.”
“Did you, Miles? Perhaps so. I’ve such a bad memory for things that don’t concern me. Do you really want to hear the Minister? It would be much cosier to talk.”