She looked around the room. It was so like Garth; every detail
perfect; every shade of colour enhancing another, and being enhanced
by it. The arrangements for regulating the light, both from roof and
windows; the easels of all kinds and sizes; clean bareness, where
space, and freedom from dust, were required; the luxurious comfort
round the fireplace, and in nooks and corners; all were so perfect.
And the plain brown wall-paper, of that beautiful quiet shade which
has in it no red, and no yellow; a clear nut-brown. On an easel near
the further window stood an unfinished painting; palette and brushes
beside it, just as Garth had left them when he went out on that
morning, nearly three months ago; and, vaulting over a gate to
protect a little animal from unnecessary pain, was plunged himself
into such utter loss and anguish.
Jane rose, and took stock of all his quaint treasures on the
mantelpiece. Especially her mind was held and fascinated by a stout
little bear in brass, sitting solidly yet jauntily on its haunches,
its front paws clasping a brazen pole; its head turned sideways; its
small, beady, eyes, looking straight before it.
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