Mark Rothko paintings

Mark Rothko paintings
Montague Dawson paintings
Mary Cassatt paintings
they led me inside. When I understood that the jacket they called for was for me, and strait, I protested I'd only come to visit Dr. Sear. Bill acknowledged again, grudgingly, that his companion's guess had been correct. "I knew he treated lots of them animal ones," he said in his own defense. "But I thought that there goat one was in Main Detention."
"Heis," the other said, and explained patiently; "what there is, though, Bill, there's somethinks they're the ones that thinks they're animals! It's in their heads."
"You reckon Sear treats them ones too?"
Proud of his knowledge, Bill's companion pointed out that Dr. Sear was a diagnostician, not a therapist. "He just sees what bin they belong in, is all."
The waistcoat was fetched -- a cross-armed canvas thing -- but they offered not to bind me in it if I'd come quietly to Dr. Sear's office. I agreed, delighted to infer that the doctor had recovered from his dread affliction as well as from his suicide-attempt, and I endeavored to Tutor my gruff escorts no further.