2009年3月5日星期四

Alphonse Maria Mucha JOB

Alphonse Maria Mucha JOBAlphonse Maria Mucha GismondaPierre Auguste Renoir The Umbrellas
There's nothing magical about it. All the funny words and waving the hands is just . . . it's only for....
She stopped, surprised at herself. She knew what she meant. The idea was right up there in the front of her mind. But she didn't know how to say it in words, even to herself.
It was a Now everything was deep under the snow. A forlorn windsock flapped against its pole. Granny didn't hold with flying but some of her friends still used broomsticks.
"It looks deserted," said Cem.
"No smoke," said Gulta.
The windows look like eyes, thought Esk, but kept it to herself. horrible feeling to find things in your head and not know how they fitted. It.... "Come on, we'll be all day." She shook her head and hurried after her brothers. The witch's cottage consisted of so many extensions and lean-tos that it was difficult to see what the original building had looked like, or even if there had ever been one. In the summer it was surrounded by dense beds of what Granny loosely called "the Herbs" - strange plants, hairy or squat or twining, with curious flowers or vivid fruits or unpleasantly bulging pods. Only Granny knew what they were all for, and any woodpigeon hungry enough to attack them generally emerged giggling to itself and bumping into things (or, sometimes, never emerged at all.

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