Johannes Vermeer Saint Praxidis

Johannes Vermeer Saint PraxidisJohannes Vermeer Lady Standing at a VirginalJohannes Vermeer A Lady Writing a Letter
Certainly, Doctor. Come with me, dear," said the nurse, and Lyra obediently followed.
They went along a short corridor with doors on the right and a canteen on the left, from which came a clatter of knives small for her age, whatever that meant. It had never affected her sense of her own importance, but she realized that she could use the fact now to make Lizzie shy and nervous and insignificant, and shrank a little as she went into the room.
She was half expecting questions about where she had come from and how she had arrived, and she was preparing answers; but it wasn't only imagination the nurse lacked, it was curiosity as well. Bolvangar might have been on the outskirts of London, and children and forks, and voices, and. The nurse was about as old as Mrs. Coulter, Lyra guessed, with a brisk, blank, sensible air; she would be able to stitch a wound or change a bandage, but never to tell a story. Her daemon (and Lyra had a moment of strange chill when she noticed) was a little white trotting dog (and after a moment she had no idea why it had chilled her)."What's your name, dear?" said the nurse, opening a heavy door. "Lizzie." "Just Lizzie?" "Lizzie Brooks." "And how old are you?" "Eleven."Lyra had been told that she was