[For Anne Bransby-Smith] Help draw something like one of those French girls....
She might find him in one of the brighter-lit, south-facing rooms, a youngish man with a sketchpad on his knees, propped against the edge of a table, a carefully sharpened drawing pencil in hand. A mirror stands propped up on a chair nearby: he'll gaze into the mirror from time to time, then look back to the sketchpad, tracing more lines. Then he pauses, frowning at the page, then looking to the mirror again.
With a slightly annoyed sigh, he turns to the pad again and reaches for a kneadable eraser, using it to scrub out some of the lines he just drew.
Looking for an Anne, but if anyone wants a pensive would-be artist, feel free to tap the typist.
With a slightly annoyed sigh, he turns to the pad again and reaches for a kneadable eraser, using it to scrub out some of the lines he just drew.
Looking for an Anne, but if anyone wants a pensive would-be artist, feel free to tap the typist.