Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Vincent van Gogh field of poppies

Vincent van Gogh field of poppiesHenri Matisse GoldfishMichael Austin Red Dress
What on?"
Cutangle groped for a subject.
"Herbs?" he hazarded. "We're not very good on herbs here. And headology. Esk told me a lot about headology. It sounds fascinating."
The sugar lump disappeared through a crack in a nearby wall with a final jerk. Cutangle nodded towards it.
"They're very heavy on the sugar," he said, "but we haven't got the heart to do anything about it."
Granny frowned, and then nodded across the haze over the city to the distant glitter of the snow on the Ramtops.
"It's a long way," she said. "I can't be keeping on going
"We could buy you a much better broomstick," said Cutangle. "One you don't have to bump start. And you, you could have a flat here. And all the old clothes you can carry," he added, using the secret weapon. He had wisely invested intiles needed fixing.
"Practical things?" she said, thoughtfully.
"Absolutely," said Cutangle.
"Mmph. Well, I'll think about it," said Granny, dimly aware that one should never go too far on a first date.
"Perhaps you would care to dine with me this evening and let me know?" said some conversation with Mrs Whitlow. "Mmph," said Granny, "Silk?" "Black and red," said Cutangle. An image of Granny in black and red silk trotted across his mind, and he bit heavily into his scone. "And maybe we can bring some students out to your cottage in the summer," Cutangle went on, "for extra-mural studies." "Who's Extra Muriel?" "I mean, there's lots they can learn, I'm sure." Granny considered this. Certainly the privy needed a good seeing-to before the weather got too warm, and the goat shed was ripe for the mucking-out by spring. Digging over the Herb bed was a chore, too. The bedroom ceiling was a disgrace, and some of the

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