Arthur P. Bramble couldn't remember the first visit or who the
visitor was. At fourteen years of age it might have been Picasso,
General Custer, Robin Hood or, in a moment of precocious daring,
Marilyn Monroe. In the early years the visits were infrequent, no
more than one every two months. The frequency increased during his
late teens and early twenties and were entirely dependent on his
preoccupation of the time. When Arthur took up art it was fourteen
years since the first visit and his conscious mind was no more
aware of the visitations than it had ever been. But art has an
uncanny way of seeping through cracks sealed by conventional
behaviour. And Arthur P. Bramble was a conventional person,
everyone knew. Everyone, that is, except his visitors.
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