Edgar Degas paintings

Edgar Degas paintings
Emile Munier paintings
Edwin Lord Weeks paintings
Shaft!" He hugged Max carefully. "Stupidly, sir, you didn't say before!"
Max shook his head. When the shock had passed, he said, he'd seen his guilt. Even if he'd not directly ordered Hermann's suicide, he was the cause of it; moreover, so far from feeling remorse, he found himself trembling with satisfaction over the dead Moishiocaust. Having dragged the body into the woods, he would even have burned it, to complete his revenge, but Hermann's lighter had got soaked in blood and refused to catch. He'd gone then to the roadside and brooded until Croaker and I overtook him next day, by which time he'd come round to seeing he was flunked, and choosing to suffer for the crime of murder.
He smiled. "Then Georgie told me what he told me, up in the Visitation Room, and I wouldn't listen, I didn't believe him since the Powerhouse, also since Bray." Nevertheless, my criticism of his motives had taken root in his mind and grown, further nourished by debate with Leonid, until he'd despaired of choosing either death or liberty for the right reason.
"Ah, Max!" I said warmly. "You're passed already, Shaft or no Shaft! You see that now, don't you?"
He did. "So it's vanity I take the Shaft or I don't: so flunk me! What