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