Page 384 - of-human-bondage-

‘I suppose it wouldn’t be quite the thing.’
The answer was made so seriously that Philip was tick-
led.
‘Besides it would be rotten for your nerves,’ he said grave-
ly.
Albert Price concluded that he had better go back to Lon-
don by the four o’clock train, and presently he took leave of
Philip.
‘Well, good-bye, old man,’ he said. ‘I tell you what, I’ll try
and come over to Paris again one of these days and I’ll look
you up. And then we won’t ‘alf go on the razzle.’
Philip was too restless to work that afternoon, so he
jumped on a bus and crossed the river to see whether there
were any pictures on view at Durand-Ruel’s. After that he
strolled along the boulevard. It was cold and wind-swept.
People hurried by wrapped up in their coats, shrunk togeth-
er in an effort to keep out of the cold, and their faces were
pinched and careworn. It was icy underground in the cem-
etery at Montparnasse among all those white tombstones.
Philip felt lonely in the world and strangely homesick. He
wanted company. At that hour Cronshaw would be working,
and Clutton never welcomed visitors; Lawson was painting
another portrait of Ruth Chalice and would not care to be
disturbed. He made up his mind to go and see Flanagan.
He found him painting, but delighted to throw up his work
and talk. The studio was comfortable, for the American had
more money than most of them, and warm; Flanagan set
about making tea. Philip looked at the two heads that he
was sending to the Salon.