Naiade oil painting

Naiade oil painting
Nighthawks Hopper
Nude on the Beach
One Moment in Time
closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, `Let me in--let me in!' `Who are you?' I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. `Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton); `I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!' As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane,
oil painting
and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, `Let me in!' and maintained its tenacious grip, almost maddening me with fear. `How can I?' I said at length. `Let me go, if you want me to let you in!' The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! `Begone!' I shouted, `I'll never let you in, not if you