John Singer Sargent The Rialto painting

John Singer Sargent The Rialto paintingJohn Singer Sargent The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit paintingJohn Singer Sargent The Chess Game painting
Yes,” said Wheatley. “We had already said our prayers.”
“It is a matter of indifference to me how often you pray. You have spent most of the day on your knees in chapel, praying all the time, I hope. All I am concerned about is that you obey the orders of the head of the dormitory. Anyone else anything to say? Then get the room ready.”
They pushed back the new men’s table and laid a bench on its side across the front of the fireplace. The routine was familiar. They were beaten in the House Room twice a term, on the average.
“Who’s senior? You, I think, Wheatley.”
Wheatley bent over the bench.
“Knees straight.” Geoghegan took his hips and arranged him to his liking, slightly oblique to the line of advance. From the corner he had three steps to the point of delivery. He skipped forward, struck and slowly turned back to the corner. They were given three strokes each; none of them moved. As they walked across the Hall, Charles felt the slight nausea turn to exhilaration.