modern landscape painting

modern landscape painting
flower landscape oil painting
mountain landscape painting
fine art oil painting
After such imaginary discourse, the passenger in his fancy would dig, and dig, dig- now with a spade, now with a great key, now with his hands- to dig this wretched creature out. Got out at last, with earth hanging about his face and hair, he would suddenly fall away to dust. The passenger would then start to himself, and lower the window, to get the reality of mist and rain on his cheek. ¡¡¡¡Yet even when his eyes were opened on the mist and rain, on the moving patch of light from the lamps, and the hedge at the roadside retreating by jerks, the night shadows outside the coach would fall into the train of the night shadows within. The real Banking-house by Temple Bar, the real business of the past day, the real strong rooms, the real express sent after him, and the real message returned, would all be there. Out of the midst of them, the ghostly face would rise, and he would accost it again. ¡¡¡¡"Buried how long?" ¡¡¡¡"Almost eighteen years." ¡¡¡¡"I hope you care to live?" ¡¡¡¡"I can't say." ¡¡¡¡Dig- dig- dig- until an impatient movement from one of the two passengers would admonish him to pull up the window, draw his arm securely through the leathern strap, and speculate upon the two slumbering forms, until his mind lost its hold of them, and they again slid away into the bank and the grave. ¡¡¡¡"Buried how long?" ¡¡¡¡"Almost eighteen years."