Claude Monet The Bridge at Argenteuil

Claude Monet The Bridge at ArgenteuilClaude Monet Spring 1880Claude Monet Snow at Argenteuil
continued Albert, carefully pouring some tea into his saucer and fanning it primly with the end of his muffler. 'I mean, they was wise and fair, well, fairly wise. And they wouldn't think twice about cutting your head off soon as look at you,' he added approvingly. 'And all the queens were tall and pale and wore them balaclava helmet 'Oh, I know,' he snapped, 'get Albert's name and you'll go and look him up in the library, won't you? Prying and poking. I know you, skulking in there at all hours reading the lives of young wimmen —'
The heralds of guilt must have flourished their tarnished trumpets in the depths of Mort's eyes, because Albert cackled and prodded him with a bony finger.things —''Wimples?' said Mort.'Yeah, them, and the princesses were beautiful as the day is long and so noble they, they could pee through a dozen mattresses —''What?'Albert hesitated. 'Something like that, anyway,' he conceded. 'And there was balls and tournaments and executions. Great days.' He smiled dreamily at his memories.'Not like the sort of days you get now,' he said, emerging from his reverie with bad grace.'Have you got any other names, Albert?' said Mort. But the brief spell had been broken and the old man wasn't going to be drawn.