Alphonse Maria Mucha paintings
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Berthe Morisot paintings
Yes?" he said. "What is it, Joe?" and then the unfortunate man sat down in his chair. "Yes?" he said again uncertainly; for young Chandler had now advanced to the table, he was looking at Bunting fixedly - the other thought threateningly. "Well, out with it, Joe! Don't keep me in suspense."
And then a slight smile broke over the young man's face. "I don't think what I've got to say can take you by surprise, Mr. Bunting."
And Bunting wagged his head in a way that might mean anything - yes or no, as the case might be.
The two men looked at one another for what seemed a very, very long time to the elder of them. And then, making a great effort, Joe Chandler brought out the words, "Well, I suppose you know what it is I want to talk about. I'm sure Mrs. Bunting would, from a look or two she's lately cast on me. It's your daughter - it's Miss Daisy."
And then Bunting gave a kind of cry, 'twixt a sob and a laugh. "My girl?" he cried. "Good Lord, Joe! Is that all you wants to talk about? Why, you fair frightened me - that you did!"
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