John Singer Sargent View of Capri painting

John Singer Sargent View of Capri paintingJohn Singer Sargent The Simplon paintingJohn Singer Sargent Rio dei Mendicanti painting
ended as a lurch forward to his knees, as the blotting-paper floor dipped steeply between us. The roll carried us away from him, clinging together but still on our feet, and we quickly sat where our dance led us, on the further side, in isolation; a web of life-lines had been stretched across the lounge, and we seemed like boxers, roped into the ring. The steward approached. ‘Your usual, sir? Whisky and tepid water, I think. And for the lady? Might I suggest a nip of champagne?’
‘D’you know, the awful thing is I would like champagne very much,’ said Julia. ‘What a life of pleasure - roses, half an hour with a female pugilist, and now champagne!’ ‘I wish you wouldn’t go on about the roses. It wasn’t my idea in the first place.
Someone sent them to Celia.’
‘Oh, that ‘s quite different. It lets you out completely. But it makes my massage worse.’
‘I was shaved in bed.’