Pierre-Auguste Cot The Storm painting

Pierre-Auguste Cot The Storm painting
Pierre-Auguste Cot Springtime painting
And then Aunt Hannah’s voice coldly tender:— and her mother’s:—
In intense quietness, Catherine stole through the open door opposite Aunt Hannah’s door, and hid herself beneath her grandparents’ bed. She was no longer crying. She only wanted never to be seen by anybody again. She lay on her side and stared down into the grim grain of the carpet. When Aunt Hannah’s door opened she felt such terror that she gasped, and drew her knees up tight against her chest. When the voices began calling her, downstairs, she made herself even smaller, and when she heard their feet on the stairs and the rising concern in their voices she began to tremble all over. But by the time she heard them along
Claude Monet The Luncheon painting
hallway she was out from under the bed and sitting on its edge, her back to them as they came in, her heart knocking her breath to pieces.
“Why there you are,” her mother cried, and turning, Catherine was frightened by the fright and the tears on her face. “Didn’t you hear us?”
She shook her head, no.
“Why how could you help but—were you asleep?”
She nodded, yes.
“I thought she was with you, Amelia.”