Francois Boucher Brown Odalisk

Francois Boucher Brown OdaliskFrancois Boucher Are They Thinking About the GrapFrancois Boucher An Autumn PastoralFrancois Boucher Adoration of the ShepherdsGustave Courbet The Origin of the World
being dead. Well, the first thing to do was get out and make a proper end to himself - ‘ ‘Evening, Mr Poons.’
He turned around very slowly and saw the small figure of Modo, the University’s dwarf gardener, who was sitting in the twilight smoking his pipe. ‘Oh. Hallo, Modo.’
‘I ‘eard you was took dead, Mr Poons.’
‘Er. Yes. I was.’
‘See you .
Modo relit his pipe. You see a lot of interesting things in this job, he thought.
In an alley, temporarily out of sight of passers-by, someone called Reg Shoe, who was dead, looked both ways, took a brush and a paint tin out of his pocket, and painted on the wall the words:got over it, then.’Poons nodded, and looked dismally around the walls. The University gates were always locked at sunset every evening, obliging students and staff to climb over the walls. He doubted very much that he’d be able to manage that.He clenched and unclenched his hands. Oh, well . . .‘Is there any other gateway around here, Modo?’ he said. ‘No, Mr Poons.’‘Well, where shall we have one?’‘Sorry, Mr Poons?’There was the sound of tortured masonry, followed by a vaguely Poons-shaped hole in the wall. Windle’s hand reached back in and picked up his hat