Paul Gauguin The Yellow Christ

Paul Gauguin The Yellow ChristPaul Gauguin The Vision After the SermonPaul Gauguin Spirit of the Dead Watching
“That’s settled, then,” she said.“Hold on, I’m not sure—““Yes, Mr. Quamey?”“Oh . . . well...”“Good, Terry Pratchett
make out one or two stones by the flickering light, lying on their side or rolled down the slope of the hill.
The hill itself glowed. Something was wrong with the landscape. It curved where it shouldn’t curve. Distances weren’t right. Magrat remembered a woodcut shoved in as a place marker in one of her old books. It showed the face of an old crone but, if you stared at it, you saw it was also the head of a young woman; a nose became a neck, an eyebrow became a necklace. The images seesawed back and forth. And like everyone else, she’d squinted herself silly trying to see them both at the same time.
The landscape was doing pretty much the same thing. What was a hill was also at the same time a vast snowbound panorama. Lancre and the land of the elves were trying to occupy the same space.
The intrusive country wasn’t having it all its own way.good,” said Nanny, as Shawn reappeared. “They was just saying, our Shawn, how they was swayed by your speech. Really pussiked up.”“Cor!”“They’re ready to follow you into the jaws of hell itself, Iexpect,” said Nanny.Someone put up their hand.“Are you coming too, Mrs. Ogg?”