Paul Cezanne Boy in a Red Waistcoat

Paul Cezanne Boy in a Red WaistcoatPaul Cezanne Apples Peaches Pears and GrapesLaurie Maitland Symphony in Red and Khaki IIWilliam Bouguereau YouthBill Brauer Salsa Dancers
Currently it was observing three figures moving slowly over the moor, converging with some determination on a bare patch where the standing stone stood, or usually stood, though just at the moment it wasn't visible.
It recognised them as old friends and connoisseurs, and conjured up a brief unseasonal roll of thunder as a form of keep a clear head, Gytha.'
'Just a drop in your tea isn't drinking,' said Nanny. 'It's medicine. It's a chilly old wind up here, sisters.'
'Very well,' said Granny. 'But just a drop.'
They drank in silence. Eventually Granny said, 'Well, Magrat. You know all about the coven business. We might as well do it right. What do we do next?'
Magrat hesitated. She wasn't up to suggesting dancing naked.greeting. This was totally ignored.'The bloody stone's gone,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'However many there is of it.'Her face was pale. It might also have been drawn; if so, then it was by a very neurotic artist. She looked as though she meant business. Bad business.'Light the fire, Magrat,' she added automatically.'I daresay we'll all feel better for a cup of tea,' said Nanny Ogg, mouthing the words like a mantra. She fumbled in the recesses of her shawl. 'With something in it,' she added, producing a small bottle of applejack.'Alcohol is a deceiver and tarnishes the soul,' said Magrat virtuously.'I never touch the stuff,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'We should