to look after, and a bedridden man must be a terrible burden. He can't even feed himself, they say. A terrible fate, that! I have one of his canvases in town. Perhaps you recall it; over the mantel in the big room; a small thing; a hill-side with a storm just passing over and the sun breaking through a piled-up mass of ragged clouds? No? A wonderful bit! And worth a lot of money. He wasn't prolific, and there aren't many of his pictures to be found. The Metropolitan has three, I think, and there are perhaps half a dozen more in this country in private collections. When he had his trouble a number of canvases, most of them unfinished things and sketches, were sold at Buell's Galleries for his benefit. I got mine there. Things went pretty well, for we wanted to help him out."
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