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Quickly
,
as
if
she
were
recalled
by
something
over
there
,
she
turned
to
her
canvas
.
There
it
was
--
her
picture
Yes
,
with
all
its
greens
and
blues
,
its
lines
running
up
and
across
,
its
attempt
at
something
.
It
would
be
hung
in
the
attics
,
she
thought
;
it
would
be
destroyed
.
But
what
did
that
matter
?
she
asked
herself
,
taking
up
her
brush
again
.
She
looked
at
the
steps
;
they
were
empty
;
she
looked
at
her
canvas
;
it
was
blurred
.
With
a
sudden
intensity
,
as
if
she
saw
it
clear
for
a
second
,
she
drew
a
line
there
,
in
the
centre
.
It
was
done
;
it
was
finished
.
Yes
,
she
thought
,
laying
down
her
brush
in
extreme
fatigue
,
I
have
had
my
vision
.