Jack Vettriano The Opening Gambit

Jack Vettriano The Opening GambitJack Vettriano The Model and the DrifterJack Vettriano The Missing Man
danced on tables for a living. You could put in a Z and a couple of Ns and an E, but it still looked like a name with extensions built on. It was as bad as Sara, a name that cried out for a prosthetic H.
Well, at least she could do something about the way she looked.
It was the robe. It, a Death wondered about what to wear.
'Hold on,' she said, to her reflection. 'Here . . . I can create things, can't I?'
She held out her hand and thought: cup. A cup appeared. It had a skull‑and‑bones pattern around the rim.
'Ah,' said Susan. 'I suppose a pattern of roses is out of the question? Probably not right for the ambience, I expect.'
She put the cup on the dressing table and tapped it. It went plink in a solid sort of way. might be traditional but . . . she wasn't. The alternative was her school uniform or one of her mother's pink creations. The baggy dress of the Quirm College for Young Ladies was a proud one and, in the mind of Miss Butts at least, proof against all the temptations of the flesh . . . but it lacked a certain panache as costume for the Ultimate Reality. And pink was not even to be thought of.For the first time in the history of the universe

John William Waterhouse waterhouse Ophelia

John William Waterhouse waterhouse OpheliaJohn William Waterhouse Hylas and the NymphsJohn William Waterhouse Waterhouse OpheliaLeonardo da Vinci Portrait of Ginevra Benci
had invincible walls of common sense. They were beginning to melt like salt in a wet wind, and that made her angry.
There was Grandfather Lezek, of course, on his little farm so poor that even the sparrows had to kneel down to eat. He'd been a nice old chap, so far as she could recall; a bit sheepish, now she came to think about it, especially when her father was Flume, in the fifth form, was always boasting that her great‑great­-grandmother had once been seduced by the god Blind to in the form of a vase of daisies, which apparently made her a demi‑hemi­-semi‑goddess. She said her mother found it useful to get a table in restaurants. Saying you were a close relative of Death probably would not have the same effect. You praround.Her mother had told Susan that her own father had been...Now she came to think about that, she wasn't sure what her mother had told her. Parents were quite clever at not telling people things, even when they used a lot of words. She'd just been left with the impression that he wasn't around.Now it was being suggested that he was renowned for being around all the time.It was like having a relative in trade.A god, now . . . a god would be something. Lady Odile obably wouldn't even manage a seat near the kitchen.

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema Caracalla and Geta

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema Caracalla and GetaFranz Marc The MonkeyFranz Marc RinderFranz Marc Rehe im Schnee
thought Carrot.
'Woof woof,' said the dog.
Carrot's forehead wrinkled.
'It's you, isn't it?' he 'Please?' said Carrot.
Gaspode scratched his ear.
'Maybe I could track her down,' said Gaspode. 'Given the right, you know, encouragement.'
He waggled his eyebrows encouragingly.
'If you find her, I'll give you anything you want,' said Carrot.
'Oh, well. If. Right. Oh, yes. That's all very well, is if. What about something up front? Look said, pointing his sword.'Me? Dogs don't talk,' said Gaspode, hurriedly. 'Listen, I should know. I am one.''You tell me where she's gone. Right now! Or . . .''Yeah? Look,' said Gaspode gloomily, 'the first thing I remember in my life, right, the first thing, was being thrown into the river in a sack. With a brick. Me. I mean, I had wobbly legs and a humorously inside-out ear, I mean, I was fluffy. OK, right, so it was the Ankh. OK, so I could walk ashore. But that was the start, and it ain't never got much better, J mean, J walked ashore inside the sack, dragging the brick. It took me three days to chew my way out. Go on. Threaten me.'

Vincent van Gogh Olive grove I

Vincent van Gogh Olive grove IVincent van Gogh Madhouse garden of St-RemyVincent van Gogh Landscape at Auvers in the RainVincent van Gogh The Plain at Auvers
chimes the hours afterwards,' said Carrot.
'It's slow, then,' said Sergeant Colon. 'All the others just struck, you couldn't miss 'em.'
'My cousin Jorgen makes ones like these,' said Cuddy. 'They keep better time than demons or water clocks or candles. Or those big 'Um. I chipped in a few dollars each from you new recruits,' he added, blushing. 'I mean . . . you can pay me back when you like. If you want to. I mean . . . you'd be bound to be friends. Once you got to know him.'
The rest of the Watch exchanged glances.
He could lead armies, Angua thought. He really could. Some people have inspired whole countries to great deeds because of the power of their vision. And so could he. Not because he dreams abopendulum things.''There's a spring and wheels,' said Carrot.'The important bit,' said Cuddy, taking an eyeglass from somewhere in his beard and examining the watch carefully, 'is a little rocking-thingummy that stops the wheels from going too fast.''How does it know if they're going too fast?' said Angua.'It's kind of built-in,' said Cuddy. 'Don't understand it much myself. What's this inscription here . . .'He read it aloud.' "A Watch From, Your Old Freinds in the Watch"?''It's a play on words,' said Carrot.There was a long, embarrassed silence.