The first few days, I remember, were not altogether full of enjoyment
for one of us. My excellent Anne, who has all her brother's virtues,
without his failings, would have scouted the notion of allowing any
dread of physical fatigue to stand between her and the churches and
pictures which she had come all the way from England to admire; and, as
Venice was an old haunt of mine, she very excusably expected me to act
as cicerone to her, and allowed me but little rest between the hours of
breakfast and of the _table d'hote_. At last, however, she conceived the
modest and felicitous idea of making a copy of Titian's "Assumption";
and, having obtained the requisite permission for that purpose, set
to work upon the first of a long series of courageous attempts, all of
which she conscientiously destroyed when in a half-finished state. At
that rate it seemed likely that her days would be fully occupied for
some weeks to come; and I urged her to persevere, and not to allow
herself to be disheartened by a few brilliant failures; and so she
hurried away, early every morning, with her paint-box, her brushes, and
her block, and I was left free to smoke my cigarettes in peace, in front
of my favourite cafe on the Piazza San Marco.
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