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Bennett, Arnold, 1867-1931

"Buried Alive: a Tale of These Days"

He knew that he would have to face neither rudeness, nor
bluntness, nor lack of imagination, nor lack of quick sympathy. Besides,
the visitor, with practical assurance, set the tone of the interview
instantly.
"Good-morning, _maitre_," he began, right off. "I must apologize for
breaking in upon you. But I've come to see if you have any work to sell.
My name is Oxford, and I'm acting for a collector."
He said this with a very agreeable mingling of sincerity, deference, and
mercantile directness, also with a bright, admiring smile. He showed no
astonishment at the interior of the attic.
_Maitre_!
Well, of course, it would be idle to pretend that the greatest artists
do not enjoy being addressed as _maitre_. 'Master' is the same word, but
entirely different. It was a long time since Priam Farll had been called
_maitre_. Indeed, owing to his retiring habits, he had very seldom been
called _maitre_ at all. A just-finished picture stood on an easel near
the window; it represented one of the most wonderful scenes in London:
Putney High Street at night; two omnibus horses stepped strongly and
willingly out of a dark side street, and under the cold glare of the
main road they somehow took on the quality of equestrian sculpture.


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