oil painting from picture

sometimes I asked her questions about her native country; but she
was not of a descriptive or narrative turn, and generally gave such
vapid and confused answers as were calculated rather to check than
encourage inquiry.
October, November, December passed away. One afternoon in
January, Mrs. Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele, because she
had a cold; and, as Adele seconded the request with an ardour that
reminded me how precious occasional holidays had been to me in my
own childhood, I accorded it, deeming that I did well in showing
pliability on the point. It was a fine, calm day, though very cold;
I was tired of sitting still in the library through a whole long
morning: Mrs. Fairfax had just written a letter which was waiting to
be posted, so I put on my bonnet and cloak and volunteered to carry it