Content
"I'm allus hungry," was the answer, "but 't ain't as bad as it was."
His soul was swooning into some new world, fantastic, dim, uncertain as under sea, traversed by cloudy shapes and beings.
"The first fine afternoon drive up to Fiesole, and round by Settignano, or something of that sort."
Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night.
