Caravaggio Boy with a Basket of Fruit painting

Caravaggio Boy with a Basket of Fruit paintingBartolome Esteban Murillo Inmaculada Museo del Prado paintingBartolome Esteban Murillo Inmaculada de Soult painting
D’you want me to come?’
‘I’d much rather you didn’t.’
‘Celia sent a card with “Bring everyone” written across it in green ink. When do we meet?’
‘In the train. You might pick up my luggage.’
‘If you’ll have it packed soon I’ll pick you up, too, and drop you at the gallery. I’ve got a fitting next door at twelve.’
When I reached the gallery my wife was standing looking through the window to the street. Behind her half a dozen unknown picture-lovers were moving from canvas to canvas, catalogue in hand; they were people who had once bought a wood: cut and were consequently on the gallery’s list of patrons.
‘No one has come yet,’ said my wife. ‘I’ve been here since ten and it’s been very dull.
Whose car was that you came in?’
‘Julia’s.’
‘Julia’s? Why didn’t, you bring her in? Oddly enough, I’ve just been talking