Chapter 14Mr. Brownstone sat at his desk reviewing the draft for the grant proposal for this coming year. His wrinkled hands held the document somewhat close to his face. Arthritic fingers pushed wire-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Putting the paper down for the third time, he looked at the hour displayed on the antique grandfather clock just a few feet away from his desk. Upon seeing what time it was, he sat back with a sigh. He reflected back on his conversation with Ms. Lanning and he was content to know that someone had taken interest in the painting. Soon his feeble mind went further back to when he first viewed the selected piece of art.
It was his second year at the gallery, and on a breezy and sunny summer afternoon the most lovely, graceful, and beautiful southern
