The Nut Gatherers

The Nut Gatherers
The Painter's Honeymoon
the polish rider
The Sacrifice of Abraham painting 'What do you care for an Irish song?' she returned. ¡¡¡¡'Much!' said Steerforth. 'Much more than for any other. Here is Daisy, too, loves music from his soul. Sing us an Irish song, Rosa! and let me sit and listen as I used to do.' ¡¡¡¡He did not touch her, or the chair from which she had risen, but sat himself near the harp. She stood beside it for some little while,
oil painting in a curious way, going through the motion of playing it with her right hand, but not sounding it. At length she sat down, and drew it to her with one sudden action, and played and sang. ¡¡¡¡I don't know what it was, in her touch or voice, that made that song the most unearthly I have ever heard in my life, or can imagine. There was something fearful in the reality of it. It was as if it had never been written, or set to music, but sprung out of passion within her; which found imperfect utterance in the low sounds of her voice, and crouched again when all was still. I was dumb when she leaned beside the harp again, playing it, but not sounding it, with her right hand.