Marc Chagall The Concert painting

Marc Chagall The Concert paintingMarc Chagall La Mariee paintingPaul Gauguin The Yellow Christ painting
Lucy’s an angel,” said Julia, “that’s why we hate Roger so.”
Finally there was the evening of Julia’s last party. Eight of us went to dance at a restaurant. Julia was at first very gay, but her spirits dropped towards the end of the evening. I was living in Ebury Street; it was easy for me to walk from Victoria Square, so I went back with them and had a last drink. “Lucy’s promised to leave us alone, just for a minute, to say good-bye,” Julia whispered.
When we were alone, she said, “It’s been absolutely wonderful the last two weeks. I didn’t know it was possible to be so happy. I wish you’d give me something as a kind of souvenir.”
“Of course. I’ll send you one of my books, shall I?”
“No,” she said, “I’m not interested in your books any more. At least, of course, I am, terribly, but I mean it’s you I love.”
“Nonsense,” I said.
“Will you kiss me, once, just to say good-bye.”
“Certainly not.”