Jack Vettriano Mind Bending

Jack Vettriano Mind BendingJack Vettriano Midnight BlueJack Vettriano Man Pursued
Silently the aircar coasted through the cold darkness, a single soft glow of light that was utterly alone in the deep Magrathean night. It sped swiftly. Arthur's companion seemed sunk in his own thoughts, and when Arthur tried on a couple of they were hardly moving at all. Then a tiny glow of light appeared in the far distance and within seconds had grown so much in size that Arthur realized it was travelling towards them at a colossal speed, and he tried to make out what sort of craft it might be. He peered at it, but was unable to discern any clear shape, and suddenly gasped in alarm as the aircraft dipped sharply and headed downwards in what seemed certain to be a collision course. Their relative velocity seemed unbelievable, and Arthur had hardly time to draw breath occasions to engage him in conversation again he would simply reply by asking if he was comfortable enough, and then left it at that. Arthur tried to gauge the speed at which they were travelling, but the blackness outside was absolute and he was denied any reference points. The sense of motion was so soft and slight he could almost believe

Rubens The Judgment of Paris

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gay Episcopal bishop and an early Obama booster, for feeling as if he’d been slapped in the face. “I’m all for Rick Warren being at the table,” he told The Times, but “we’re talking about putting someone up front and center at what will be the most-watched inauguration in history, and asking his blessing on the nation. And the God that he’s praying to is not the God that I know.”
Warren, whose ego is no less than Obama’s, likes to advertise his “commitment to model civility in America.” But as Rachel Maddow of MSNBC reminded her audience, “comparing gay to child abuse” is a “strange model of civility.” Less strange but equally hard to take is Warren’s” and loving Melissa Etheridge records will not protect any gay families’ civil rights.
Equally lame is the argument mounted by an Obama spokeswoman, Linda Douglass, who talks of how Warren has fought for “people who have H.I.V./AIDS.” Shouldn’t that be the default position of any religious leader? Fighting AIDS is

Repin Portrait of the Composer Nikolay Rymsky-Korsakov

Repin Portrait of the Composer Nikolay Rymsky-KorsakovRemington The ApachesRepin Portrait of Nicholas II, The Last Russian EmperorRemington A Breed
Average customer rating: 4 starsCustomer quote: “Yes, there are inaccuracies, as others have pointed out [on Amazon.com]. This is a dramatization and this is elegant popular entertainment. As an armchair historian, in love with the stories of Henry VIII, I find it absolutely gripping. The acting is for the most part marvelous, and the idea of doing these great personages as is a brilliant
5. 30 Rock: Season 2 (available on DVD):Average customer rating: 4.5 starsCustomer quote: “Watching 30 Rock during its second season was a completely exhilarating experience. It had in its rookie year quickly established itself as the funniest show on TV, but during its sophomore acting got sharper and sharper with each episode. Next to Arrested Development, I honestly believe that this is the funniest American comedy series ever.” –Robert Moore
6. The Office: Season 4 (available on DVD as a single season or in a four-season set)Average customer rating: 4 starsCustomer quote: ”If the writers’ strike had not cut [this] season in half then I'm sure it would have ranked up there with Season 2 and 3. Season 4 offered the usual story of the complex relationship between Jim and Pam and also the odd and disturbing at Michael and Jan.” –-Jason Orzello

Angelico Saint Cosmas and Saint Damian Salvaged

Angelico Saint Cosmas and Saint Damian SalvagedDegas Madame Valpinon with ChrysanthemumsAngelico Annalena AltarpieceChurch The Cordilleras Sunrise
yes sir, so you said," said the barman, looking over his glasses this time at Arthur. "Lucky escape for Arsenal if it did." Ford looked back at him, genuinely surprised. "No, not really," he said. He frowned. The barman breathed in heavily. "There you are sir, six pints," he said. Arthur smiled at him wanly and shrugged again. He turned and smiled wanly at the ? Thank you sir." "You've got ten minutes left to spend it." The barman simply decided to walk away for a bit. "Ford," said Arthur, "would you please tell me what the hell is going on?" "Drink up," said Ford, "you've got three pints to get through." "Three pints?" said Arthur. "At lunchtime?" The man next to ford grinned and nodded happily. Ford ignored himrest of the pub just in case any of them had heard what was going on. None of them had, and none of them could understand what he was smiling at them for. A man sitting next to Ford at the bar looked at the two men, looked at the six pints, did a swift burst of mental arithmetic, arrived at an answer he liked and grinned a stupid hopeful grin at them. "Get off," said Ford, "They're ours," giving him a look that would have an Algolian Suntiger get on with what it was doing. Ford slapped a five-pound note on the bar. He said, "Keep the change." "What, from a fiver

Gockel Hot Spot I

Gockel Hot Spot IGockel Hot Sassy IVGockel Hot Sassy IIIGockel Hot Sassy II
ninety? Maybe it didn’t matter. Ninety of each letter, two hundred and seventy tiles in total, were the number needed to fill the jar. Wednesday’s child is full of woe.[536] Call 53. Hannah.Even with the static filtered out and the speech, and your children will burn.”Channing Manheim would not arrive the afternoon of December 24. The operative theory had been that the Face wouldn’t be in danger until that time, at the earliest.Maybe the Face himself had never been in danger. Maybe the target had always been Fric.Twenty-two ladybugs in a small glass jar. Why not twenty-three or twenty-four? Unlike the cookie jar, the beetle container had been less than half full. So why not fifty ladybugs packed to the lid?This was Tuesday, December 22. enhanced, her message could not be understood, as if on this occasion, the river betweenand death had widened until the far shore lay at the other side of an ocean.Call 52. Also unclear.Call 51. Hannah with another nursery rhyme.“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away As he shot to his feet, Ethan knocked over his chair.“Your house is on fire

Rivera Portrait of Sra. Dona Elena Flores de Carrillo

Rivera Portrait of Sra. Dona Elena Flores de CarrilloRivera Portrait of Natasha Zakolkowa GelmanRivera Pareja IndigenaRivera Mujeres con Flores y Frutos (Women with Flowers and Vegetables
Repeat what you told me on the phone.”“Damn,” Trotter said nervously. “You know it’s true.”“It’s bullshit,” Corky said.Trotter’s hair was as orange as that of the Cheshire Cat who had toyed with Alice in Wonderland. He had the pinned-wide, protuberant eyes of the Mad Hatter. His nose twitched nervously, reminiscent of the White Rabbit. His bloated face and his huge mustache recalled the famous Walrus, and he was in general as brillig, slithy, and control,” he whispered shakily. “Hurricanes, tornadoes, blizzards, droughts—an untraceable weapon as terrible as nuclear bombs.”In reality, Corky was counting on nothing more than chaos to be his ally, to bring the storm mimsy as numerous of Lewis Carroll’s characters rolled into one.“For God’s sake, Goodfellow,” Trotter all but blubbered, “the storm, [421] the storm! We can’t do the job in this. It’s impossible in weather like this.”Still pressing the Glock to Trotter’s forehead, Corky said, “The storm will break by six o’clock. The wind will die completely. We’ll have ideal conditions.”“Yeah, they’re saying it might break, but what do they know? Do any of their predictions ever turn out right?”“I’m not relying on the TV weathermen, you cretin. I’m relying on supersecret Defense Department satellites that not only study the planet’s weather patterns but control them with microwave energy pulses. We will make the storm end when we need it to end.”This crackpot assertion played well with the paranoid Trotter, whose pinned-wide eyes stretched even wider. “Weather

Rivera The Flower Carrier

Rivera The Flower CarrierRivera The Flower Carrier IRivera Retrato de la Sra Dona Elena Flores de CarrilloRivera Retrato de Ignacio Sanchez
slopes behind his property, as well as half the narrow valley both up-canyon and down-canyon, bristled with wild brush that, by late August, would be as ready for burning as Brittina Dowd’s house had proved to be with the application of a little gasoline.Now, of course, the steep slopes were so supersaturated with rain [420] that the risk was a mud slide. In this will. He was a punk-mean elf.Although he parked ten steps from the veranda, he didn’t hurry through the downpour because Robin Goodfellow, too cool for jackboots but wearing them in spirit, was not a man who noticed the weather when he was in a foul mood.He climbed the three steps to the veranda, drew the Glock from his shoulder holster, and pressed the muzzle to Trotter’s forehead.terrain, a canyon wall could descend in a tidal wave of muck with such suddenness that even a wild-eyed paranoid with every nerve fully cocked might not be able to outrun it. If he broke into a sprint at first rumble, Trotter could still wind up buried alive, but alive only briefly, sharing his grave with an ark’s worth of crushed and loved southern California.Not yet crushed and smothered, Trotter waited for his visitor on the veranda. If at all possible, he hoped to keep Corky out of the house.On one of his previous visits, deeply into his role as a rogue government agent who used the United States Constitution as toilet paper, Corky had misbehaved. He had

Edward Hopper Cape Cod Morning painting

Edward Hopper Cape Cod Morning paintingAmedeo Modigliani the Reclining Nude paintingAmedeo Modigliani Seated Nude painting
then the thermostat on the upper floor. This would prevent the electric starter from striking a spark in the natural-gas furnace and possibly triggering an explosion of accumulated gasoline fumes before Corky had left the house.Leaving the cap set the can on the threshold. He unscrewed the cap and tossed it aside.From a jacket pocket, he retrieved the black-and-red object that was about the size of a single-serving yogurt container: a chemical-action detonator.The casing of the detonator was somewhat pliable. He shaped it into the hole that had been covered by the screw-on cap, plugging the two-gallon can in which approximately half a gallon on the can, pouring from the spout, he liberally splashed the pale naked body of Brittina Dowd. Her long hair offered tinder, but she didn’t have much fat to feed the fire.After pouring no more than a quart of fuel in the bathroom, he distributed perhaps half a gallon over the rumpled bedclothes. He didn’t prime the two other small upstairs rooms because he’d never been in them and because he didn’t need to saturate every corner to achieve the effect he wanted.From the bedroom he drizzled an uninterrupted gasoline trail into the narrow upstairs hallway and down the stairs to the ground floor. At the bottom of the steps, he cast aside the empty can and picked up the full through the living room and the dining room, to the kitchen doorway. There he

Thomas Kinkade Evening Glow painting

Thomas Kinkade Evening Glow paintingThomas Kinkade CHRISTMAS MEMORIES paintingThomas Kinkade Boston painting
with a price.In this case, of course, the price had been greater for Brittina than for him.He dressed quickly. In his stocking feet, he descended the narrow stairs to the cramped kitchen at the back of the house.His yellow slicker and rain hat hung on a wall peg in the small screened porch off the kitchen. His black boots stood to one side of the slicker.Rain crashed in such heavy cascades upon the porch roof that it [396] sounded like a downpour in the jungled tropics. He half expected to see grinning crocodiles in the backyard and pythons slithering in the trees.He others in the house led down from the kitchen to a garage in which three of the four walls were underground. Gloom gathered here as luxuriously slipped the pistol into one of the capacious pockets of the slicker. From another pocket he withdrew a length of flexible rubber tubing and an object that resembled a snack-size container of yogurt, though it was black with a red lid and featured no illustrations of luscious fruit.With no reason remaining to be respectful of Brittina’s clean floors, he pulled on his boots and returned to the house. The deep wet tread of his rubber soles squeaked on the vinyl tile in the kitchen.His work was not yet completed. He had left behind evidence that would convict him of murder. Semen, hair, fingerprints—all must be eliminated.From the day that he’d begun visiting this pinched place, months previously, he had gone without the latex gloves that he customarily wore at the scenes of capital crimes. Even though Brittina Dowd was nothing if not an eccentric, she would surely have grown suspicious of a lover who at all times wore surgical gloves.Steeper and narrower stairs than any

Cassius Marcellus Coolidge Dogs Playing Poker painting

Cassius Marcellus Coolidge Dogs Playing Poker paintingLeonardo da Vinci Lady With An Ermine paintingCaravaggio Adoration of the Shepherds painting
three-eyed freak.Windier than Monday’s storm, this one snapped weak fronds off queen palms, tumbled an empty plastic trash can down the center of the street, tore a window awning and loudly flapped the loose length of forest-green was a busy day of a different kind, however, and he had [352] numerous scheduled tasks to which he must attend. Monday he had been a devilish rascal, an amusing imp of nihilism, but this day he must be a serious soldier of anarchy.The neighborhood was an eclectic mix of two-story Craftsman houses with raised front porches and classic single-story California bungalows that borrowed from canvas.Melaleucas lashed their willowy branches as though trying to whip themselves to pieces. Stone pines were stripped of dead brown needles that bristled through the churning air and gave it the power to prick, to blind.As Corky walked, a dead rat bobbed past him on the racing water in the gutter. The lolling head rolled toward him, revealing one dark empty socket and one milky eye.The grand and lovely spectacle made him wish that he had time to join in the celebration of disorder, to spread some prankish chaos of his own. He longed to poison a few trees, stuff mailboxes with hate literature, spread nails under the tires of parked cars, set a house afire. ...This

Frank Dicksee La Belle Dame Sans Merci painting

Frank Dicksee La Belle Dame Sans Merci paintingSandro Botticelli The Birth of Venus paintingEdward Hopper Nighthawks painting
his wake, across a significant portion of the wide attic, the framed posters swung like giant pendulums. He had stirred some of them during his flight, but the wind of those dozen fanned others into gentler motion, perpetrating a wider nations of Manheim, thwarted the even flow of light from aisle to aisle.Crouched warily in gloom, Fric drew a deep breath, held it, listened.At first he could hear nothing but the didop-da-bidda-boom of his skipping-drumming heart, but near the useful end of that banked breath, he began to hear, as well, the dash of rain on slate.Aware that by his every noise he would locate himself for the stalking predator, Fric eased out the dead breath, coaxed in a live one, held it.Higher in the house, he was also higher in the storm. Here the lonely sighing of the rain swelled into the whispers of a multitude exchanging sinister secrets in the sea of night that now submerged Palazzo Rospo.disturbance.[266] Among all this movement, the approach of the mirror man was more difficult to discern than it would have been in an attic steeped in stillness. Fric couldn’t catch a glimpse of him.Unless you were a skulking fiend with a sympathy for shadows, the lighting here was troublesome. Wall lamps ringed the perimeter of the attic, while others were mounted to some of the columns that supported the trusswork, though the number and brightness of them left much to be desired. The hanging palisades of posters, arrayed like flags from the many

Lorenzo Lotto Mystic Marriage of St Catherine painting

Lorenzo Lotto Mystic Marriage of St Catherine paintingCamille Pissarro Pissarro Hyde Park paintingWilliam Etty Hero and Leander painting
runaways would visit bunk to bunk. In the most lonely hours after midnight, might not the restless dead pair up in a cold and hideous parody of passion?If Corky Laputa had believed in a moral code or even if he had believed that good taste that of a startled owl.“Come in, come, come,” Corky encouraged. “You’re among friends here, even though it is your intention eventually to dissect some of them.”Opening the door only wide enough to accommodate his thin frame, Roman slipped into the cadaver vault, pausing to peer back worriedly at the hallway before closing himself in with Corky and the twenty naughty members of the toga party.“What the hell are you wearing?” asked the nervous pathologist.required certain universal rules of social conduct, he might have passed his two-minute wait by rearranging these carelessly draped shrouds, insisting upon modesty even among the deceased.Instead, he enjoyed the scene because in this chamber was the ultimate fruit of anarchy. Besides, with considerable excitement, “he [178] anticipated the arrival of the usually unflappable Roman Castevet, who would be fully flapped on this occasion.Almost two minutes to the tick, the lever-action door handle clicked, creaked, and eased down. The door cracked open, but only an inch.As though he expected to discover that Corky awaited him with a camera crew and a pack of muckraking reporters, Roman peered through the gap, his one revealed eye as wide as

Henri Rousseau Fight Between a Tiger and a Buffalo painting

Henri Rousseau Fight Between a Tiger and a Buffalo paintingHenri Rousseau Family Fishing paintingHenri Rousseau Exotic Landscape paintingHenri Rousseau Exotic Landscape 1908 painting
Whatever he claimed, cop haters and aggressively brainless citizens would believe him.More important, the shooter would find an attorney to file suit [156] against the city, eager to feed at the public trough. A of Hell. Hazard expected to see Reynerd at one of the panes, black-and-white, too glamorous for his time.He turned the shooter faceup. Somebody’s son, somebody’s , in his early twentiessettlement would be reached, regardless of the merits of the case, and Hazard would probably be sacrificed as part of the package. Politicians were no more protective of good law-enforcement officers than they were of the young interns whom they regularly abused and sometimes killed.The shooter posed far less of a problem dead than alive.Hazard could have moseyed back to the scene, giving the perp a chance to bleed out another critical pint, but he ran.The killer lay where he’d fallen, face planted in the wet grass. A snail had ascended the back of his neck.People were at windows, looking down, expressions blank, like dead sentinels at the gates

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Pablo Picasso Accordionist paintingIrene Sheri Music To My Ear paintingIrene Sheri Mediterranean Sunset paintingIrene Sheri Dreaming of Tomorrow painting
Pond.”Any cop who works homicides is changed forever by his job. The victims haunt him with the quiet insistence of spirochetes spinning your best and often only defense against the horror. Early in the investigation, every killing is given a droll name, which is thereafter used within the Homicide Division.Your ranking officer would never ask, Are you making progress on the Ermitrude Pottlesby murder? It would felt personal. No disrespect was ever intended by these case names—and sometimes they expressed a strange, melancholy affection.“Strangled,” Ethan said, referring to Blonde in the Pond. “Which suggests passion, a good chance it was someone romantically involved with her.”“Ah. So you haven’t gone entirely soft in your expensive leather jackets always be, Anything new with Blonde in the Pond?When Ethan and Hazard worked the brutal murders of two [61] lesbians of Middle Eastern descent, the case had been called Lezzes in Fezzes. Another young woman, tied to a kitchen table, had choked to death on steel-wool pads and Pine-Sol-soaked sponges that her killer had forced into her mouth and down her throat; her case was Scrub Lady.Outsiders would probably be offended to hear the unofficial case names. Civilians didn’t realize that detectives often dreamed about the dead for whom they sought justice, or that a detective could occasionally become so attached to a victim that the loss

Sung Kim Swan Cottage I painting

Sung Kim Swan Cottage I paintingSung Kim Spring Patio II paintingSung Kim Soaring Eagle paintingSung Kim Point painting
will not give you counsel: in the end you must leave them and the River, and turn west-or east.'Aragorn thanked Celeborn many times. The gift of boats comforted him much, not least because there would now be no need to decide his course for some days. The others, too, looked more hopeful. Whatever perils lay ahead, it you each shall tread are already laid before your feet, though you do not see them. Good night! 'The Company now took their leave and returned to their pavilion. Legolas went with them, for this was to be their last night in Lothlórien, and in spite of the words of Galadriel they wished to take counsel together.For a long time they debated what they should do, and how it would be best to attempt the fulfilling of their purpose with the Ring: but they came to no decision. It was plain that most of them desired to seemed better to float down the broad tide of Anduin to meet them than to plod forward with bent backs. Only Sam was doubtful: he at any rate still thought boats as bad as wild horses, or worse, and not all the dangers that he had survived made him think better of them.`All shall be prepared for you and await you at the haven before noon tomorrow,' said Celeborn. 'I will send my people to you in the morning to help you make ready for the journey. Now we will wish you all a fair night and untroubled sleep.''Good night, my friends! ' said Galadriel. 'Sleep in peace! Do not trouble your hearts overmuch with thought of the road tonight. Maybe the paths that

Johannes Vermeer Girl with a Pearl Earring painting

Johannes Vermeer Girl with a Pearl Earring paintingGustav Klimt The Three Ages of Woman painting
Gandalf, 'these doors are probably governed by words. Some dwarf-gates will open only at special times, or for particular persons; and some have locks and keys that are still needed when all necessary times and words are known. These doors have no key. In the days of Durin they were not secret. They usually stood open and doorwards sat here. But if they were shut, any who knew the opening word could speak it and pass in. At least so it is recorded, is it not, Gimli? ''It is,' said the dwarf. `But what the word was is not remembered. Narvi and his craft and all his kindred have vanished from the earth.'
Gustav Klimt The Kiss (Le Baiser _ Il Baccio) paintingVincent van Gogh Self Portrait painting
starlight and moonlight, and sleeps until it is touched by one who speaks words now long forgotten in Middle-earth. It is long since I heard them, and I thought deeply before I could recall them to my mind.''What does ?' asked Frodo, who was trying to decipher the inscription on the arch. 'I thought I knew the elf-letters but I cannot read these.'`The words are in the elven-tongue of the West of Middle-earth in the Elder Days,' answered Gandalf. 'But they do not say anything of importance to us. They say only: The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. And underneath small and faint is written: I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.'`What does it mean by speak, friend, and enter?' asked Merry.'That is plain enough,' said Gimli. `If you are a friend, speak the password, and the doors will open, and you can enter.''Yes,' said

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brown, Legolas, a messenger from his father, Thranduil, the King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood. And seated a little apart was a tall man with a fair and noble face, dark-haired and grey-eyed, proud and stern of glance.He was cloaked and booted as if for a journey on horseback; and indeed though his garments were rich, the Council need now be told. Much was said of events in the world outside, especially in the South, and in the wide lands east of the Mountains. Of these things Frodo had already heard many rumours; but the tale of Glóin was new to him, and when the dwarf spoke he listened attentively. It appeared that amid the splendour of their works of hand the hearts of the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain were troubled.`It is now many years ago,' said Glóin, `that a shadow of disquiet fell upon our people. Whence it came we did not at first perceive. Words began to be whispered in secret: it was and his cloak was lined with fur, they were stained with long travel. He had a collar of silver in which a single white stone was set; his locks were shorn about his shoulders. On a baldric he wore a great horn tipped with silver that now was laid upon his knees. He gazed at Frodo and Bilbo with sudden wonder.`Here,' said Elrond, turning to Gandalf, `is Boromir, a man from the South. He arrived in the grey morning, and seeks for counsel. I have bidden him to be present, for here his questions will be answered.'Not all that was spoken and debated in

Neiman Swiss Race

Neiman Swiss Race
high above the mists he came,a distant flame before the Sun,a wonder ere the waking dawnwhere grey the Norland waters run.
And over Middle-earth he passedand heard at last the weeping soreof women and of elven-maidsin Elder Days, in years of yore.gut on him mighty doom was laid,till Moon should fade, an orb‚d starto pass, and tarry never moreon Hither Shores where mortals are;for ever still a herald onan errand that should never rest
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his shining lamp afar,the Flammifer of Westernesse.The chanting ceased. Frodo opened his eyes and saw that Bilbo was seated on his stool in a circle of listeners, who were smiling and applauding.`Now we had better have it again,' said an Elf.Bilbo got up and bowed. `I am flattered, Lindirit would be too tiring to repeat it all.''Not too tiring for you,' the Elves answered laughing. 'You know you are never tired of reciting your own verses. But really we cannot answer your question at one hearing!'`What!' cried Bilbo. 'You can't tell which parts were
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easy for us to tell the difference between two mortals' said the Elf.'Nonsense, Lindir,' snorted Bilbo. 'If you can't distinguish between a Man and a Hobbit, your judgement is poorer than I imagined. They're as different as peas and apples.''Maybe. To sheep other argue with you,' said Bilbo. 'I am sleepy and singing. I'll leave you to guess, if you want to.'He got up and came
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they sat for some while, looking through the window at the bright stars above the steep-climbing woods, and talking softly. They spoke no more of the small news of the Shire far away, nor of the dark shadows and perils that encompassed them, but of the fair things they had seen in the world together, of the Elves, of the stars, of trees, and the gentle fall of the bright year in the woods.At last there came a knock on the door. `Begging your pardon,' said Sam, putting in his head, `but I was just wondering if you would be wanting

The Penitent Magdalene By Guido Reni

The Penitent Magdalene By Guido ReniThe Magdalene By El GrecoThe Appearance of Christ to Mary Magdalene By Alexander IvanovSaint Mary Magdalene By Titian
however anxious their guides might be, it was plain that the hobbits could go no further that night. They were stumbling along dizzy with weariness, and unable to think of anything but their feet and legs. Frodo's pain had in which the hobbits walked when they could, to ease their tired feet. In the late afternoon they came to a place where the Road went suddenly under the dark shadow of tall pine-trees, and then plunged into a deep cutting with steep moist walls of red stone. Echoes ran along as they hurried forward; and there seemed to be a sound of many footfalls following their own. All at once, as if through a gate of light, the Road ran out again from the end of the tunnel into the open. There at the bottom of a sharp incline they redoubled, and during the day things about him faded to shadows of ghostly grey. He almost welcomed the coming of night, for then the world seemed less pale and empty.The hobbits were still weary, when they set out again early next morning. There were many miles yet to go between them and the Ford, and they hobbled forward at the best pace they could manage.'Our peril will be greatest just ere we reach the river,' said Glorfindel; 'for my heart warns me that the pursuit is now swift behind us, and other danger may be waiting by the Ford.'The Road was still running steadily downhill, and there was now in places much grass at either side,

Magdalene in the Desert by Domenico Piola 1674

Magdalene in the Desert by Domenico Piola 1674Life of Mary Magdalene Raising of Lazarus By Giotto di BondoneLife of Mary Magdalene Noli me tangere By GiottoLife of Mary Magdalene Noli me tangere By Giotto di Bondone
swayed, clutching at Sam's arm.'My master is sick and wounded,' said Sam angrily. 'He can't go on riding after nightfall. He needs rest.'Glorfindel caught Frodo as he sank to the ground, and taking him gently in his arms he looked in his face with grave anxiety.Briefly Strider told of the attack on their camp under Weathertop, and of may! Alas! the wounds of this weapon are beyond my skill to heal. I will do what I can - but all the more do I urge you now to go on without rest.'He searched the wound on Frodo's shoulder with his fingers, and his face grew graver, as if what he learned disquieted him. But Frodo felt the chill lessen in his side and arm; a little warmth crept down from his shoulder to his hand, and the pain grew easier. The dusk of evening seemed to grow lighter about him, as if a cloud had been withdrawn. He saw his friends' faces more clearly again, and a the deadly knife. He drew out the hilt, which he had kept, and handed it to the Elf. Glorfindel shuddered as he took it, but he looked intently at it.'There are evil things written on this hilt,' he said; 'though maybe your eyes cannot see them. Keep it, Aragorn, till we reach the house of Elrond! But be wary, and handle it as little as you

Turner San Giorgio Maggiore in the Morning

Turner San Giorgio Maggiore in the MorningTurner Rocky Bay with Figures 1Turner Kilchern Castle with the Cruchan Ben Mountains Scotland NoonTurner Ingleborough From The Terrace Of Hornby Castle
Strider, who sat on, unnoticed, by the wall.Mr. Butterbur did not seem much put out. He reckoned, very probably, that his house would be full again on many future nights, until the present mystery had been I'll be getting to bed. We shall be making an early start. Will you see that our ponies are ready by eight o'clock?''Very good! But before you go, I should like a word with you in private, Mr. Underhill. Something has just come back to my mind that I ought to tell you. I hope that you'll not take it amiss. When I've seen to a thing or two, I'll come along to your room, if you're willing.''Certainly!' said Frodo; but his heart sank. He wondered how many private talks he would have before he got to bed, and what they would reveal. Were these people all in league against him? He began to suspect even old Butterbur's fat face of concealing dark designs.thoroughly discussed. 'Now what have you been doing, Mr. Underhill?' he asked. 'Frightening my customers and breaking up my crocks with your acrobatics!''I am very sorry to have caused any trouble,' said Frodo. 'It was quite unintentional, I assure you. A most unfortunate accident.''All right, Mr. Underhill! But if you're going to do any more tumbling, or conjuring, or whatever it was, you'd best warn folk beforehand - and warn me. We're a bit suspicious round here of anything out of the way -uncanny, if you understand me; and we don't take to it all of a sudden.''I shan't be doing anything of the sort again, Mr. Butterbur, I promise you. And now I think

Turner Campo Santo Venice

Turner Campo Santo VeniceTurner View over Town at Suset a Cemetery in the ForegroundTurner View from the Terrace of a Villa at Niton, Isle of Wight from sketches by a ladyTurner Venice San Guirgio from the Dogana Sunrise
pleased with himself. He capered about on the table; and when he came a second time to the cow jumped over the Moon, he leaped in the air. Much too vigorously; for he came down, bang, into a tray full of mugs, and feel very uncomfortable. Presently he slipped out of the door, followed by the squint-eyed southerner: the two had been whispering together a good deal during the evening. Harry the gatekeeper also went out just behind them..Frodo felt a fool. Not knowing what else to do, he crawled away under the tables to the dark comer by Strider, who sat unmoved, giving no sign of his thoughts. Frodo leaned back against the wall and took off the Ring. How it came to be on his finger he could not tell. He could only suppose that he had been slipped, and rolled off the table with a crash, clatter, and bump! The audience all opened their mouths wide for laughter, and stopped short a gaping silence; for the singer disappeared. He simply vanished, as if he had gone slap through the floor without leaving a hole!The local hobbits stared in amazement, and then sprang to their feet and shouted for Barliman. All the company drew away from Pippin and Sam, who found themselves left alone in a comer, and eyed darkly and doubtfully from a distance. It was plain that many people regarded them now as the companions of a travelling magician of unknown powers and purpose. But there was one swarthy Bree-lander, who stood looking at them with a knowing and half-mocking expression that made them

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mischief. At any rate it gave him no inspiration. He spoke 'a few suitable words', as they would have said in the Shire: We are all very much gratified by the kindness of your reception, and I venture to hope that my brief visit will help to renew the old ties of friendship between the Shire and Bree; and then he hesitated and The ostler has a tipsy cat that plays a five-stringed fiddle;And up and down he runs his bow,Now squeaking high, now purring low, now sawing in the middle.The landlord keeps a little dog that is mighty fond of jokes;coughed.Everyone in the room was now looking at him. 'A song!' shouted one of the hobbits. 'A song! A song!' shouted all the others. 'Come on now, master, sing us something that we haven't heard before!'For a moment Frodo stood gaping. Then in desperation he began a ridiculous song that Bilbo had been rather fond of (and indeed rather proud of, for he had made up the words himself). It was about an inn; and that is probably why it came into Frodo's mind just then. Here it is in full. Only a few words of it are now, as a rule, remembered.There is an inn, a merry old inn beneath an old grey hill,And there they brew a beer so brownThat the Man in the Moon himself came down one night to drink his fill.

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supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hurry. But there's no accounting for East and West, as we say in Bree, meaning the Rangers and the Shire-folk, begging your pardon. Funny you should ask about him.' But at that moment Mr. Butterbur was called away by a demand for more ale and his last remark remained unexplained.Frodo found that Strider was now looking at him, as if he had heard or guessed all that had been said. Presently, with a wave of his hand and a nod, he invited Frodo to come over and sit by him. As Frodo drew hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits.'Who is that?' Frodo asked, when he got a chance to whisper to Mr. Butterbur. 'I don't think you introduced him?''Him?' said the landlord in an answering whisper, cocking an eye without turning his head. 'I don't rightly know. He is one of the wandering folk -Rangers we call them. He seldom talks: not but what he can tell a rare tale when he has the mind. He disappears for a month, or a year, and then he pops up again. He was in and out pretty often last spring; but I haven't seen him about lately. What his right name is I've never heard: but he's known round here as Strider. Goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; though he don't tell nobody what cause he has to near be threw back his hood, showing a shaggy head of dark