Mark Spain Dance I

Mark Spain Dance IMark Spain Crescendo IIMark Spain Crescendo IMark Spain CordobaMark Spain Contemplation
'That's people for you, I'm afraid.'
'I never did find out what happened to Mr Hong.'
'Poor fellow.'
'And then air, there are no boundaries. There could be no more war, because the sky is endless. How happy we would be, if we could but fly.'
Vetinari turned the machine over and over in his hands.
'Yes,' he said, 'I daresay we would.'
'I had tried clockwork, you know.'
'I'm sorry? I was thinking about something else.'there's the wizards. Tinker, tinker, tinker. Never think twice before grabbing a thread of the fabric of reality and giving it a pull.''Shocking.''The alchemists? Their idea of civic duty is mixing up things to see what happens.''I hear the bangs, even here.''And then, of course, along comes someone like you—''I really am terribly sorry.'Lord Vetinari turned the model flying machine over and over in his fingers.'You dream of flying,' he said.'Oh, yes. Then men would be truly free. From the

Claude Monet Autumn at Argenteuil

Claude Monet Autumn at ArgenteuilRene Magritte Woman BathingRene Magritte The Voice of the WindsRene Magritte The Sea of Flames
bathed in lukewarm water and a rosy alcoholic glow. Then he dried himself off as best he could and looked at the suit on the bed.
It had been made for him by the finest tailor in the city. Sybil Ramkin had a generous heart. She was a woman out for all she could give.
The suit was blue . He wasn't at all sure how to become a gentleman. Putting on the suit would seem to be part of it . . .
Guests were arriving. He could hear the crunch of carriage wheels on the driveway, and the flip-flop of the sedan-chair carriers.
He glanced out of the window. Scoone Avenue was and deep purple, with lace on the wrists and at the throat. It was the height of fashion, he had been told. Sybil Ramkin wanted him to go up in the world. She'd never actually said it, but he knew she felt he was far too good to be a copper.He stared at it in muzzy incomprehension. He'd never really worn a suit before. When he was a kid there'd been whatever rags could be tied on, and later on there'd been the leather knee britches and chainmail of the Watch – comfortable, practical clothes.There was a hat with the suit. It had pearls on it.Vimes had never worn any headgear before that hadn't been hammered out of one piece of metal.The shoes were long and pointy.He'd always worn sandals in the summer, and the traditional cheap boots in the winter.Captain Vimes could just about manage to be an officer

Paul Gauguin The Vision After the Sermon

Paul Gauguin The Vision After the SermonPaul Gauguin Spirit of the Dead WatchingPaul Gauguin Hail MaryHenri Matisse Woman with a Hat
shall expect you up at the house at eight o'clock, then,' she said. 'And don't look like that. It'll help you tremendously. You're far too good a man to spend his nights traipsing around dark wet streets. It's time you got on in the world.'
Vimes wanted to say that he liked traipsing around dark wet streets, but it would be no use. He didn't like it much. It was just what 'He got out of his pen last night.'
'A dragon?'
Vimes groaned, and pulled a cheap cigar out of his pocket. Swamp dragons were becoming a minor nuisance in the city. Lady Ramkin got very angry about it.
People would buy them when they were six inches he'd always done. He thought about his badge in the same way he thought about his nose. He didn't love it or hate it. It was just his badge.'So just you run along. It'll be terrific fun. Have you got a handkerchief?' Vimes panicked. 'What?' 'Give it to me.' She held it close to his mouth. 'Spit. . .' she commanded.She dabbed at a smudge on his cheek. One of the Interchangeable Emmas gave a giggle that was just audible. Lady Ramkin ignored it.'There,' she said. 'That's better. Now off you go and keep the streets safe for all of us. And if you want to do something really useful, you could find Chubby.''Chubby?'

Cao Yong FRIENDS

Cao Yong FRIENDSCao Yong FreedomCao Yong Day of Love
note under the door when he’s going to be about. For air traffic control, see?”
Most of the town was dark. The moonlight made a black and silver checkerboard across the country. After a while, Casanunda began to feel better about things. The motion of the broomstick was actually quite soothing.
“Carried lots of passengers, have you?” he said.
“On and off, yes,” said Nanny.
Casanunda appeared to be thinking about things. And
then he said, in the night.
“Oh, blast.”
“Can’t you outfly them?”
“Nope. They can put a girdle round the world in forty minutes.”
“Why? It’s not that fat,” said Casanunda, who was feel-ing in the mood for a handful of dried frog pills.a voice dripping with scientific inquiry, “Tellme, has anyone ever tried to mak—““No,” said Nanny Ogg firmly. “You’d fall off.”“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”“Bet you half a dollar?”They flew in silence for a couple of minutes, and then Casanunda tapped Nanny Ogg on the shoulder.“Elves at three o’clock!”“That’s all right, then. That’s hours away.”“I mean they’re over there!”Nanny squinted at the stars. Something ragged moved across

Lord Frederick Leighton The Fisherman and the Syren

Lord Frederick Leighton The Fisherman and the SyrenJean Auguste Dominique Ingres Perseus and AndromedaGuido Reni The Coronation of the VirginGuido Reni St Joseph
have gone on looking. She admitted that to herself, afterward. But she seemed to have no self-control.
There was a wooden bowl in the middle of the dresser table, full of odd coins, bits of string, and the general detri-tus of the nightly emptied pocket.
And a folded paper.could actually afford a standing army.
Kings and queens and various sub-orders of aristocracy were even now streaming over Lancre bridge, watched by a sulking and soaking-wet troll who had given up on bridge-keeping for the day.
The Great Hall had been thrown open. Jugglers and fire-eaters strolled among the crowd. Up in the minstrels gallery a small orchestra were playing the Lancre one-string fiddle and famed Ramtop bagpipes, but fortunately they were more or less drowned out by the noise of the crowd. Much folded, as if it had stayed in said pocket for some time.She picked it up, and unfolded it.There were little kingdoms all over the hubward slopes of the Ramtops. Every narrow valley, every ledge that some-thing other than a goat could stand on, was a kingdom. There were kingdoms in the Ramtops so small that, if they were ravaged by a dragon, and that dragon had been killed by a young hero, and the king had given him half his king-dom as per Section Three of the Heroic Code, then there wouldn’t have been any kingdom left. There were wars of annexation that went on for years just because someone wanted a place to keep the coal.175Terry PratchettLancre was one of the biggest kingdoms. It

Pop art trane in blue

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LOR08 ftttQ Lft0/£6
“Take my hand, child,” she said.
Diamanda “I ain’t in her mind, elf. I’m keeping you out.”
The Queen smiled. It was the most beautiful smile Diamanda had ever seen.
“And you have some power, too. Amazing. I never thought you’d amount to anything, Esmerelda Weatherwax. But it’s no good here. Kill them both. But not at the same time. Let the other one watch.”
She climbed on to her horse again, turned it around, and galloped off.
Two of the elves dismounted, drawing thin bronze dag-gers from their belts.stuck out a hand gingerly.There was something about the eyes. It wasn’t the shape or the color. There was no evil glint. But there was ...... a look. It was such a look that a microbe might encounter if it could see up from the bottom end of the microscope. It said: You are nothing. It said: You are flawed, you have no value. It said: You are animal. It said: Perhaps you may be a pet, or perhaps you may be a quarry. It said:And the choice is not yours.She tried to pull her hand away.“Get out of her mind, old crone.”Granny’s face was running with sweat.

Nicolas De Stael Agrigente

Nicolas De Stael AgrigenteNicolas De Stael Agrigente 1953Rodney White Small ChangeRodney White Share a Random Moment
wasn’t a witch in the bone like the old ones. They made sure she knew it.
Well, she’d just have to leam queening. At least she was the only one in Lancre. No one’d be looking over her shoul-der the whole time, saying things like “You ain’t holding that scepter right’.”
Right. ..
Someone had stolen her clothes in the night.
She got up in her nightshirt and hopped over the cold flagstones to the door. She was halfway there when it opened of its own girl bobbing up.
“If you say ‘yes’m’ again, it will go very hard with you,” she managed, as she went past.
“Y—right, your majesty, m’m.”
Faint light began to dawn.accord.She recognized the small dark girl that came in, barely visible behind a stack of linen. Most people in Lancre knew everyone else.“Millie Chillum?”The linen bobbed a curtsy.“Yes’m?”Magrat lifted up part of the stack.“It’s me, Magrat,” she said. “Hello.”“Yes’m.” Another bob.“What’s up with you, Millie?”“Yes’m.” Bob, bob.42LQR06 fiNb Lft0/£6“I said it’s me. You don’t have to look at me like that.”“Yes’m.”The nervous bobbing continued. Magrat found her own knees beginning to jerk in sympathy but as it were behind the beat, so that as she was bobbing down she overtook the

Mark Spain Crescendo I

Mark Spain Crescendo IMark Spain CordobaMark Spain Contemplation
LfiQIEQ
knee-deep in religions. There were the Nine Day Wonderers, and the Strict Offlians, and there were various altars to small gods of one sort or another, tucked away in distant clearings. He’d never really felt the need, just like the dwarfs. Iron was iron and fire was fire—start getting meta-physical and you were scraping your thumb on the bottom of your hammer.
WHAT DO YOU REALLY HAVE FAITH IN, RIGHT AT THIS MOMENT?
He’s inches away, Jason thought. I could reach out and touch . . .
There was a smell. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was hardly anything at all. It was the smell of air in old forgotten rooms. If centuries I SPEAK AS ONE CRAFTSMAN TO ANOTHER.
“Thank you, m’lord.”
WE WILL MEET AGAIN.
“Yes, m’lord.”
WHEN NEXT MY HORSE NEEDS SHOEING.could smell, then old ones would smell like that.MR. OGG?Jason swallowed.“Well, m’lord,” he said, “right now ... I really believe in this blindfold.”GOOD MAN. GOOD MAN. AND NOW ... I MUST BE GOING.Jason heard the latch lift. There was a thud as the doors scraped back, driven by the wind, and then there was the sound of hooves on the cobbles again.YOUR WORK, AS ALWAYS, IS SUPERB.“Thank you, m’lord.”
“Yes, m’lord.”

Mark Rothko Untitled 1960

Mark Rothko Untitled 1960Mark Rothko Violet Green and RedMark Rothko Green Red on Orange
it had been a wrench. It had been upsetting. You never forgot your first believer. They gave you shape.
Tortoises are not well equipped for cross-country navigation. They need longer legs or shallower ditches.
Om estimated that he was doing less than a fifth of a mile an hour in a direct line, and the Citadel was at least twenty miles away. them until the juice covered his head, but it didn't make a lot of difference.
And then there was nightfall. Nights here weren't as cold as the desert, but they weren't as warm as the day. He'd slow down at night as his blood cooled. He wouldn't be able to think as fast. Or walk as fast.
He was losing heat already. Heat meant speed.
He pulled himself up on to an anthill-
"You're going to die! You're going to die!"Occasionally he made good time between the trees in an olive grove, but that was more than pulled back by rocky ground and field walls.All the time, as his legs whirred, Brutha's thoughts buzzed in his head like a distant bee.He tried shouting in his mind again."What've you got? He's got an army! You've got an army? How many divisions have you got?"But thoughts like that needed energy, and there was a limit to the amount of energy available in one tortoise. He found a bunch of fallen grapes and gobbled

Vincent van Gogh Wheatfield under a Cloudy Sky

Vincent van Gogh Wheatfield under a Cloudy SkyClaude Monet Water Lilies 1903Claude Monet Bridge over a Pool of Water Lilies
crowd stoning a man to death in a pit. Ever seen that?"
"It has to be done," Brutha mumbled. "So the soul can be shriven and-'
"Don't know "Old 'Charcoal' Abraxas," said Didactylos, suddenly cheerful again. "Struck by lightning fifteen times so far, and still not giving up. You can borrow this one overnight if you want. No scribbling comments in the margins, mind you, unless they're interesting."
"This is it!" said Om. "Come on, let's leave this idiot."
Brutha unrolled the scroll. There weren't even any pictures. Crabbed writing fiIled it, line after line.
"He spent years researching it," said Didactylos. "Went out into the desert, talked to the small about the soul. Never been that kind of a philosopher," said Didactylos. "All I know is, it was a horrible sight.""The state of the body is not-”"Oh, I'm not talking about the poor bugger in the pit," said the philosopher. "I'm talking about the people throwing the stones. They were sure all right. They were sure it wasn't them in the pit. You could see it in their faces. So glad it wasn't them that they were throwing just as hard as they could."Urn hovered, looking uncertain."I've got Abraxas's On Religion," he said.

John William Waterhouse Waterhouse Ophelia

John William Waterhouse Waterhouse OpheliaLeonardo da Vinci Portrait of Ginevra BenciLeonardo da Vinci The Madonna of the Carnation
cloud had reached the top of the dunes now, and vanished in the silent wastes of the desert.
Brutha tried to put it out of his mind, which was like trying to empty a bucket underwater. No one survived in the high around a stone jetty, at one of which was a trireme flying the holy oriflamme. When the Church traveled, the travelers were very senior people indeed, so when the Church traveled it generally traveled in style.
The party paused on a hill and looked at it.
"Soft and corrupt," said Vorbis. "That's what we've become, Brutha."
"Yes, Lord Vorbis."
"And open to pernicious influence. The sea, Brutha. It washes unholy shores, and gives desert. It wasn't just the dunes and the heat. There were terrors in the burning heart, where even the mad tribes never went. An ocean without water, voices without mouths . . .Which wasn't to say that the immediate future didn't hold terrors enough . . .He'd seen the sea before, but the Omnians didn't encourage it. This may have been because deserts were so much harder to cross. They kept people in, though. But sometimes the desert barriers were a problem, and then you had to put up with the sea.Il-drim was nothing more than a few shacks

Andy Warhol daisy 1982

Andy Warhol daisy 1982Andy Warhol Camouflage green yellow whiteAndy Warhol Brooklyn Bridge
'You don't have to,' said Rincewind hurriedly. 'It's only a thing.'
'I do not see why I should hurt him,' said Coin. 'He looks so harmless. Like an angry rabbit.'
He defies us.
'Not me,' said Rincewind, thrusting the arm with the sock behind his back and trying to ignore the bit about the rabbit.
'Why should I do everything you tell me?' said Coin to the staff. 'I always do everything you tell me, and it doesn't help people at all.'
People Coin opened his eyes. They were gold still, but flecked with brown.
Rincewind swung his sock around in a wide humming arc that connected with the staff halfway along its length. There was a brief explosion of brick dust and burnt wool and the staff spun out of the boy's hand. Wizards scattered as it tumbled end over end across the floor.must fear you. Have I taught you nothing?'But he looks so funny, He's got a sock,' said Coin.He screamed, and his arm jerked oddly. Rincewind's hair stood on end.You will do as you are commanded.'I won't'.You know what happens to boys who are bad.There was a crackle and a smell of scorched flesh. Coin dropped to his knees.'Here, hang on a minute-’ Rincewind began.

Thomas Moran Zion Valley, South Utah

Thomas Moran Zion Valley, South UtahThomas Moran The Wilds of Lake SuperiorThomas Moran Sunset on the Moor
that I'm only just learning how-’
'Nonono. She just wants you to help us. It's a sort of quest.'
Nijel's eyes gleamed.
'You mean a geas?' he said.
'Pardon?'
'It's in the book. To be a proper hero it says you've got to labour under a geas.'
Rincewind's of the logs are the kind of logs that have teeth, and most of the logs opened one lazy eye at the distant sounds of splashing from upstream, and suddenly most of the logs had legs. A dozen scaly bodies slipped into the turbid waters, which rolled over them again. The dark waters were unruffled, except for a few inconsequen­tial V -shaped ripples.forehead wrinkled. 'Is it a sort of bird?''I think it's more a sort of obligation, or something,' said Nijel, but without much certainty.'Sounds more like a kind of bird to me,' said Rincewind, 'I'm sure I read it in a bestiary once. Large. Couldn't fly. Big pink legs, it had.' His face went blank as his ears digested what they had just heard his lips say.Five seconds later they were out of the room, leaving behind four prone guards and the harem ladies themselves, who settled down for a bit of story-telling. The desert rimwards of Al Khali is bisected by the river Tsort, famed in myth and lies, which insinuates its way through the brown landscapes like a long damp descriptive passage punctuated with sandbanks. And every sandbank is covered with sunbaked logs, and most
The Luggage paddled gently down the stream. The

Thomas Kinkade Julianne's cottage

Thomas Kinkade Julianne's cottageThomas Kinkade Heather's HutchThomas Kinkade Forest Chapel
white fire that flared and vanished with a 'pop'.
He waited, his eyes watering with blue after-images, but if the staff was still there it didn't seem to be inclined to take , but now any wizard could conjure up meals beyond mere culinary skill. The big copper pans hung neglected on the wall, their sheen already tarnishing, and the kitchen ranges under the giant chimney arch were filled with nothing but chilly ash ...
The staff lay across the back door like a bar. It spun up as Spelter tottered towards it and hung, radiating quiet malevolence, a few feet away. Then, quite smoothly, it began to glide towards him.
He backed away, his feet slipping on the greasy stones. A thump across advantage of him. When vision returned he felt he could make out an even darker shadow on his left. The stairway down to the kitchens.He darted for it, leaping down the unseen steps and landing heavily and unexpectedly on uneven flags. A little moonlight filtered through a grating in the distance and somewhere up there, he knew, was a doorway into the outside world.Staggering a little, his ankles aching, the noise of his own breath booming in his ears as though he'd stuck his entire head in a seashell, Spelter set off across the endless dark desert of the floor.Things clanked underfoot. There were no rats here now, of course, but the kitchen had fallen into disuse lately - the University's cooks had been the best in the world

Gustav Klimt The Beethoven Frieze

Gustav Klimt The Beethoven FriezeGustav Klimt Sea SerpentsGustav Klimt Pear Tree
SOURCERERS MAKE THEIR OWN DESTINY. THEY TOUCH THE EARTH LIGHTLY.
Ipslore leaned on the staff, drumming on it with his fingers, apparently lost in the maze of his own thoughts. His left eyebrow,' he snarled. 'And I say that my son shall go to Unseen University and wear the Archchancellor's hat and the wizards of the world shall bow to him! And he shall show them what lies in their deepest hearts. Their craven, greedy hearts. He'll show twitched.'No,' he said, softly, 'no. I will make his destiny for him.'I ADVISE AGAINST IT.'Be quiet! And listen when I tell you that they drove me out, with their books and their rituals and their Lore! They called themselves wizards, and they had less magic in their whole fat bodies than I have in my little finger! Banished! Me! For showing that I was human! And what would humans be without love?'RARE, said Death. NEVERTHELESS'Listen! They drove us here, to the ends of the world, and that killed her! They tried to take my staff away!' Ipslore was screaming above the noise of the wind.'Well, I still have some power left

Frida Kahlo Me and My Parrots

Frida Kahlo Me and My ParrotsFrida Kahlo Me and My DollFrida Kahlo Luther Burbank
feeling that on the whole everything could have been much worse, Windle Poons died.
Somewhere in the night, Reg Shoe looked both ways, took a furtive paintbrush and small pot of paint from inside his jacket, and painted on a handy wall: Inside Every Living Person is a Dead Person Waiting to Get Out... And then it .
Beyond, to the mountains, was unformed land - it would bear weight, it had an existence of sorts, but there had never been any reason to define it further.
Until now, anyway.
Albert came up behind him, a few dark bees still buzzing around his head.
‘What are you doing, master?’ he said.
REMEMBERING.
‘Ah?’was all over. The end.Death stood at the window of his dark study, looking out on to his garden. Nothing moved in that still domain. Dark lilies bloomed by the trout pool, where little plaster skeleton gnomes fished. There were distant mountains. It was his own world. It appeared on no map.But now, somehow, it lacked something.Death selected a scythe from the rack in the huge hall. He strode past the huge clock without hands and went outside. He stalked through the black orchard, where Albert was busy about the beehives, and on until he climbed a small mound on the edge of the garden

Claude Monet Water-Lilies 1917

Claude Monet Water-Lilies 1917Claude Monet Water-Lilies 1914Claude Monet The Seine at Rouen I
don’t think anyone should even think about trying to manage the stairs,’ said Windle. ‘Look at them.’
The moving stairs weren’t. The black steps glistened in the shadowless light.
‘I see ‘The ones that can walk’ll walk, and the ones that can’t walk’ll get pushed. Come on, grandad.’ This was to the Bursar, who was persuaded to flop across the trolley. He said ‘yo’, faintly, and shut his eyes again. The Dean was manhandled on top of him.’what you mean,’ said Ludmilla. ‘I ‘d rather try and walk on quicksand.’‘It’d probably be safer,’ said Windle.‘Maybe there’s a ramp? There must be some way for the trolleys to get around.’‘Good idea.’Ludmilla eyed the trolleys. They were milling around aimlessly.’I think I might have an even better one . . .’ she said, and grabbed a passing handle. The trolley fought for a moment and then, lacking any contrary instructions, settled down docilely.

Thomas Kinkade Boston

Thomas Kinkade BostonEdward Hopper Soir BleuEdward Hopper Cape Cod Morning
Mrs Cake, who looked as though she was reading a distant script, nodded.
‘One of them things, yeah . . . see, sometimes it just happens a little bit, and you get ghosts, because the life is not in the body any more but it hasn’t gone . . . and you get less of it in the winter, because it sort of drains away, and itto their breathless accounts of the search for the elementary particles of magic itself. This may one day turn out to be a major error on the part of the senior wizards, especially if they do let the younger wizards build whatever that blasted thing is they keep wanting to build in the squash court. The senior wizards know that the proper purpose of magic is to form a social pyramid with the wizards on top of it,
comes back in the spring . . . and some things concentrate it . . .’Modo the University gardener hummed a little tune as he wheeled the strange trolley into his private little area between the Library and the High Energy Magic * building, with a load of weeds bound for composthood. l The only building on the campus less than a thousand years old. The senior wizards have never bothered much about what the younger, skinnier and more bespectacled wizards get up to in there, treating their endless requests for funding for thaumic particle accelerators and radiation shielding as one treats pleas for more pocket money, and listening with amusement

Leonardo da Vinci Female Head

Leonardo da Vinci Female HeadLeonardo da Vinci AnnunciationThomas Kinkade Seaside Village
shoal of cutlery, like silvery minnows in mid-air, flashed past the Archchancellor and dived away down a corridor. The place seemed to be in the grip of a selective and tidy-minded hurricane.
Other very surreptitiously to adopt positions that left their hands free.
‘What good are they?’ said the Senior Wrangler.
There was a noticeable drop in metaphorical temperature.
A carpet undulated past.
The Archchancellor met the gaze of the enormous Chief Priest of Blind Io who, as senior priest of the senior god in the Discworld’s rambling pantheon, was the nearest thing Ankh-Morpork had to a spokesman on religious affairs. ‘Credulous fools,’ muttered the Senior Wrangler.people had already arrived. They included a group dressed very like the wizards in many ways, although there were important differences to the trained eye.‘Priests?’ said the Dean.’Here? Before us?’The two groups began

Andy Warhol Oxidation

Andy Warhol OxidationAndy Warhol NeuschwansteinAndy Warhol Knives black and white
who’d throw in a second pair of pants for a seven dollar suit,’ said Ridcully.
‘Oh, ‘ said the and rustling and the occasional croak. Eventually he produced a dark blue glass cube. It had a dial on the front. ‘You carry one of them around in your pocket?’ said the Dean.’A valuable instrument like that?’
‘What the hell is it?’ said Ridcully.
‘Amazingly sensitive magical measuring device,’ said the Dean.’Measures the density of a magical field. A thaumometer.’Dean.‘If it comes past again, try to trip it up so’s I can have a look at the label.’ A bedsheet squeezed through an upper window and flapped away across the rooftops.‘Y’know,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, trying to keep his voice calm and relaxed, ‘I don’t think this is magic. It doesn’t feel like magic.’ The Senior Wrangler fished in one of the deep pockets of his robe. There was a muffled clanking

Jean Beraud Jeune femme traversant le boulevard

Jean Beraud Jeune femme traversant le boulevardJean Beraud A Game of BilliardsHenri Rousseau The Football PlayersPaul Cezanne Young Man with a SkullPaul Cezanne Trees in Park
suit was clean and borrow quite large sums of money from your friends. He was one hundred and thirty. It occurred to him that for most of his life he’d been an old man. Didn’t seem fair, really.
And no-one anyone used tinder boxes these days. They bought the big smelly yellow matches the alchemists made. Windle disapproved. Fire was important. You shouldn’t be able to switch it on just like that, it didn’t show any respect. That was people these days, always rushing around and . . . fires. Yes, it had been a lot warmer in the old days, too.
The kind of fires they had these days didn’t warm you up unless you were had said anything. He’d mentioned it in the Uncommon Room last week, and no-one had taken the hint. And at lunch today they’d hardly spoken to him. Even his old so-called friends seemed to be avoiding him, and he wasn’t even trying to borrow money.It was like not having your birthday remembered, only worse.He was going to die all alone, and no-one cared.He bumped the door open with the wheel of the chair and fumbled on the table by the door for the tinder box.That was another thing. Hardly