"
"I believe you're right. I'm feeling a bit muzzy about the legs, as if
I couldn't move. A bit fuzzy--"
"Muzzy, I think you said."
"Fuzzy."
"Muzzy. But we needn't quarrel about it, need we? I shall be sick in a
minute, old man."
"It's rather hard on a fellow to be always misunderstood. However, as I
was saying when you interrupted me, I am feeling slightly wobblish in
the peripatetic or ambulatorial department. But my head's all right.
Now do be serious, for a change. You don't seem to catch my drift. This
blue sea, and those orange tints on the mountains, I mean to say--how
are they going to be held fast by the optic apparatus? The lens, you
understand. I want to be able to shove them into a sketch-book, like
you fellows. Well, how? That's what I want to know. How to turn my
retina into a canvas."
"Rot, my good sir."
"It may be rot to you, but it strikes me as rather unfortunate, all the
same, when you come to think of it. This blue sea, I mean, and those
orange tints and all that, you know.
Pages:
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493