Leroy Neiman Ryder Cup

Leroy Neiman Ryder CupUnknown Artist Mary Magdalene in the DesertLeroy Neiman World Class SkierJuan Gris Violin and EngravingJuan Gris The Violin
ordinary magic’s no good against the Dungeon Dimensions. And I’m pretty sure real heroes don’t hang around in the middle of cheering crowds. They get on with the job. Real heroes are like poor old Gaspode. No‑one ever notices them until afterwards. That’s the reality.’
He raised his head slowly.
Or is this the reality?
The air ‘I . . . think there is. A different sort. We’ve felt it. Magic’s where you find it.’
He took a few deep breaths, and let his mind unravel slowly. That was the secret. You did it, you just didn’t think about it. You just let the instructions come from outside. It was just a job. You just felt the eye of the picture‑box on you, and it was a different world, a world that was just a flickering silver square.
That was the secret. The flicker.crackled. There was another kind of magic. It was snapping wildly in the world now, like a broken film. If only he could grab it . . .Reality didn’t have to be real. Maybe if conditions were right, it just had to be what people believed . . .‘Stand back,’ he whispered.‘What’re you going to do?’ said Ginger.‘Try some Holy Wood kind of magic.’‘There’s nothing magic about Holy Wood!’

Cassius Marcellus Coolidge Waterloo

Cassius Marcellus Coolidge WaterlooPino Morning BreezePino First GlanceEdvard Munch The Girls on the BridgeMartin Johnson Heade Rio de Janeiro Bay
was said to be a very dangerous thing to do. There were stories about people dreaming about being executed and then, when someone had touched them on the shoulder to wake them up, their heads had fallen off. How anyone ever knewbelieve, and here he was. You didn’t get this sort of thing in clicks. Clicks were all Passione in a Worlde Gone Madde. If this was a click, he certainly wouldn’t be sitting around in the dark on a hard chair. He’d be . . . well, he wouldn’t what a dead person had been dreaming wasn’t disclosed. Perhaps the ghost came back afterwards and stood at the end of the bed, complaining.The chair creaked alarmingly as he shifted position. Perhaps if he stuck one leg out like this he could rest it on the end of the bed, so that even if he did fall asleep she wouldn’t be able to get past without waking him.Funny, really. For weeks he’d spent the days sweeping her up in his arms, defending her bravely from whatever it was Morry was dressed up as today, kissing her, and generally riding off into the sunset to live happily, and possibly even ecstatically, ever after. There was probably no‑one who’d ever watched one of the clicks who would possibly believe that he’d spend the night sitting in her room on a chair made out of splinters. Even he found it hard to

Frida Kahlo Still Life with Parrot

Frida Kahlo Still Life with ParrotFrida Kahlo Self Portrait with Loose HairFrida Kahlo Self Portrait with Cropped HairFrida Kahlo Self Portrait with BraidFrida Kahlo Naturaleza viva
which looks a bit like - a bit like a doorway, or something. So it might really mean-’he hesitated.’ "Doorway/man",’ he hazarded.
He turned the book slightly.
‘Could be some old king,’ said Gaspode. ‘Could mean something like The Man with the Sword is Imprisoned, In the very front row of the Odium the Librarian stared up at the now-empty screen. It was the fourth time that afternoon he’d watched Shadow of the Dessert, because there’s something about a 300lb orangutan that doesn’t encourage people to order it out of the pit between houses. A drift ofor something. Or maybe it means Watch Out, There’s a Man with a Sword behind the Door. Could mean anything, really.’ Victor squinted at the book again. ‘It’s funny,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t look dead. Just . . . not alive. Waiting to be alive? A waiting man with a sword?’ Victor peered at the little man-figure. It had hardly any features, but still managed to look vaguely familiar. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘it looks just like my Uncle Osric . . .‘ Clickaclickaclicka. Click. The film spun to a standstill. There was a thunder of applause, a stamping of feet and a barrage of empty banged grain bags.

Lord Frederick Leighton Leighton Mother and Child

Lord Frederick Leighton Leighton Mother and ChildLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Music LessonRaphael The Holy FamilyWilliam Bouguereau The Virgin of the LiliesWilliam Bouguereau The Madonna of the Roses
was past two o’clock when they got back to the moving-picture-making place. The handleman had the back off the picture box and was scraping at its floor with a small shovel.
Dibbler was asleep in his canvas chair with a handkerchief over his face. But Silverfish was wide awake.
‘Where have you two been?’ he shouted.
‘I was They got through the afternoon somehow. Dibbler made them bring a horse in, and cursed the handleman because the picture box still couldn’t be moved around. The demons complained. So they put the horse head-on in front of the box and Victor bounced up and down in the saddle. As Dibbler said, it was good enough for moving pictures. hungry,’ said Victor. ‘And you’ll jolly well stay hungry, my lad, because–’ Dibbler lifted the corner of his handkerchief. ‘Let’s get started,’ he muttered. ‘But we can’t have performers telling us-’ ‘Finish the click, and then sack him,’ said Dibbler. ‘Right!’ Silverfish waved a threatening finger at Victor and Ginger. ‘You’ll never work in this town again!’

Claude Monet Water-Lilies 1914

Claude Monet Water-Lilies 1914Claude Monet The Seine at Rouen IClaude Monet The Road Bridge at ArgenteuilClaude Monet The Bridge at ArgenteuilClaude Monet Spring 1880
peered at the collection of stars and crescent moons and things. The badges of an enlightened craft whose new dawn was just dawning looked just like the credulous symbols of a ridiculous and outmoded belief system to him, but this was probably not the time to say so.
‘Sorry,’ he Silverfish, and hurried off.
An alchemist. Well, everyone knew that alchemists were a little bit mad, thought Victor. It was perfectly normal.
Who’d want to spend their time moving pictures? Most of them looked all right where they were.
‘Sausages inna bun! Get them while they’re hot!’ bellowed a voice by his ear. He turned.
‘Oh, hallo, Mr Dibbler,’ he said. said again. ‘Couldn’t see them clearly.’ ‘I’m an alchemist,’ said Silverfish, only slightly mollified. ‘Oh, lead into gold, that sort of thing,’ said Victor. ‘Not lead, lad. Light. It doesn’t work with lead. Light into gold . . . ‘ ‘Really?’ said Victor politely, as Silverfish started to set up a tripod in the middle of the plaza. A small crowd was collecting. A small crowd collected very easily in Ankh-Morpork. As a city, it had some of the most accomplished spectators in the universe. They’d watch anything, especially if there was any possibility of anyone getting hurt in an amusing way. ‘Why don’t you stay for the show?’ said

Thomas Kinkade Graceland

Thomas Kinkade GracelandThomas Kinkade Deer Creek CottageThomas Kinkade Cobblestone BridgeThomas Kinkade Clearing StormsThomas Kinkade Bridge of Faith
Teppic stared into his wine mug. These men are philosophers, he thought. They had told him so. So their brains must be of surplus monarchs was a regular source of work for the Assassins' Guild. There was always someone back home who wanted to be certain that deposed monarchs stayed that way. It was usually a case of heir today, gone tomorrow.
'I think it got caught up in geometry,' he said, hopefully. 'I heard you were very good at geometry here,' he added, 'and perhaps you could tell me how to get back.'so big that they have room for ideas that no-one else would consider for five seconds. On the way to the tavern Xeno had explained to him, for example, why it was logically impossible to fall out of a tree. Teppic had described the vanishing of the kingdom, but he hadn't revealed his position in it. He hadn't a lot of experience of these matters, but he had a very clear feeling that kings who hadn't got a kingdom any more were not likely to be very popular in neighbouring countries. There had been one or two like that in Ankh-Morpork - deposed royalty, who had fled their suddenly-dangerous kingdoms for Ankh's hospitable bosom carrying nothing but the clothes they stood up in and a few wagonloads of jewels. The city, of course, welcomed anyone - regardless of race, colour, class or creed - who had spending money in incredible amounts, but nevertheless the inhumation

Jack Vettriano Just the Way it is

Jack Vettriano Just the Way it isJack Vettriano Just Another Saturday NightJack Vettriano Just Another DayJack Vettriano Jealous HeartJack Vettriano Incident On The Promenade
'Thank you, Mr Teppic,' he said, 'you may proceed.'
Teppic felt the sweat of his body grow cold. He stared at the plank, and then at the examiner, and then at his knife. 'Y's, sir,' he said. This didn't seem like enough, in the circumstances. He added, 'Thank you, sir.'
conditions for their children which would have been rejected out of hand by destitute sandflies.
He stretched out on the thin mattress and analysed the day's events. He'd been enrolled as an assassin, all right, a student assassin, for more than seven hours and they hadn't even let him lay a hand on a knife yet. Of course, tomorrow was another day . . .He'd always remember the first night in the dormitory. It was long enough to accommodate all eighteen boys in Viper House, and draughty enough to accommodate the great outdoors. Its designer may have had comfort in mind, but only so that he could avoid it wherever possible: he had contrived a room that could actually be colder than the weather outside. 'I thought we got rooms to ourselves,' said Teppic. Chidder, who had laid claim to the least exposed bed in the whole refrigerator, nodded at him. 'Later on,' he said. He lay back, and winced. 'Do they sharpen these springs, do you reckon?' Teppic said nothing. The bed was in fact rather more comfortable than the one he'd slept in at home. His parents, being high born, naturally tolerated

Juan Gris The Violin

Juan Gris The ViolinJuan Gris The Painter's WindowJuan Gris The Open WindowJuan Gris The Mountain Le CanigouJuan Gris The Guitar 1918
all the way down.
'No,' she said.
He considered the options. 'All right,' he said.
Granny turned back and nodded to the actors, who had paused to watch her.
'I don't know what you're staring ?' she said. 'Why're all them kings and people up there?'
'It's a banquet, see,' said Nanny Ogg authoritatively. 'Because of the dead king, him in the boots, as was, only now if you look, you'll see he's pretending to be a soldier, and everyone's making speeches about how good he was and wondering who killed him.'
'Are they?' said Granny, grimly. She cast her eyes along the cast, looking for the murderer.
She was making up her mind. 'I still don't think you quite understand.'
'Well, I'm going to get to the bottom of it,' snapped Granny. She got back on to the stage and pulled aside the sacking curtains.
'You!' she shouted. 'You're dead 'You done the murder.' She looked sideways at Magrat, and admitted, grudgingly, 'Leastways, it looked like it.'
'So glad. It is always a pleasure

Paul Cezanne Leda with Swan

Paul Cezanne Leda with SwanPaul Cezanne House and TreesPaul Cezanne A Modern OlympiaLaurie Maitland Autumn SongWilliam Bouguereau Yvonne
you, laddie. I don't mind telling you. You've been like a son to me. How old are you, exactly? I never did know.'
'A hundred and two.'
Vitoller nodded gloomily. He was sixty, and his arthritis was playing him up.
'You've been like a father to me, then,' he said.
'It evens 'Aye. You don't want him to go, do you?'
'I was all for it at first. You know. Then I thought, there's destiny afoot. Just when things are going well, there's always bloody destiny. I mean, that's where he came from.
Somewhere up in the mountains. Now fate is calling him back. I shan't see out in the end,' said Hwel diffidently. 'Half the height, twice the age. You could say that on the overall average we live about the same length of time as humans.'The playmaster sighed. 'Well, I don't know what I will do without you and Tomjon around, and that's a fact.''It's only for the summer, and a lot of the lads are staying. In fact it's mainly the apprentices that are going. You said yourself it'd be good experience.'Vitoller looked wretched and, in the chilly air of the half-finished theatre, a good deal smaller than usual, like a balloon two weeks after the party. He prodded some wood shavings distractedly with his stick.'We grow old, Master Hwel. At least,' he corrected himself, 'I grow old and you grow older. We have heard the gongs at midnight.'

Claude Monet Bridge over a Pool of Water Lilies

Claude Monet Bridge over a Pool of Water LiliesPiet Mondrian Composition with Red Blue Yellow 2Vincent van Gogh Field with PoppiesHenri Matisse Blue Nude IIRobert Duval Emotional Dance
'Man just went past with a cat on his head,' one of them remarked, after a minute or two's reflection.
'See who it was?'
'The Fool, I think.'
There was a thoughtful pause. The second guard shifted his grip on his halberd.
'It's a rotten job,' he said. 'But I suppose someone's got to do it.'

'We ain't going to curse anyone,' said Granny firmly. 'It hardly ever works if they don't know you've done it.'
'What you do is, you send him a doll of himself with pins in.'
'No, Gytha.'
'All you a ghost.'
'Oh, he was all right. It was the others,' said Nanny.
'Others?'
' "Pray carry a stone out of the palace so's I can haunt it, good mother," he says,' said Nanny Ogg. ' "It's bloody boring in here, Mistress Ogg, excuse my Klatchian," he says, so of course I did. I reckon they was all listening. have to do is get hold of some of his toenails,' Nanny persisted, enthusiastically.'No.''Or some of his hair or anything. I've got some pins.''No.''Cursing people is morally unsound and extremely bad for your karma,' said Magrat.'Well, I'm going to curse him anyway,' said Nanny. 'Under my breath, like. I could of caught my death in that dungeon for all he cared.''We ain't going to curse him,' said Granny. 'We're going to replace him. What did you do with the old king?''I left the rock on the kitchen table,' said Nanny. 'I couldn't stand it any more.''I don't see why,' said Magrat. 'He seemed very pleasant. For

Amedeo Modigliani the Seated Nude

Amedeo Modigliani the Seated NudeAmedeo Modigliani Seated NudeAmedeo Modigliani Red NudeAmedeo Modigliani Portrait of Jeanne HebuterneAmedeo Modigliani Nude Sdraiato
The taxman blushed.
'Well,' he said. 'It . . . wasn't nice.'
Which demonstrates that the tax gatherer was much better at figures than words. What he would have said, if embarrassment, fear, poor memory and a complete lack of any kind of imagination hadn't conspired against it, was:The taxman gave him a look of gratitude, and bobbed a bow.
'Yes, sir. At once, sir. Thank you, sir. You're very—'
'Yes, yes,' said Lord Felmet, absently. 'You may go.''When I was a little boy, and staying with my aunt, and she had told me not to touch the cream, ekcetra, and she had put it on a high shelf in the pantry, and I got a stool and went after it when she was out anyway, and she'd come back and I didn't know, and I couldn't reach the bowl properly and it smashed on the floor, and she opened the door and glared at me: it was that look. But the worst thing was, they knew it.''Not nice,' said the duke.'No, sir.'The duke drummed the fingers of his left hand on the arm of his throne. The tax gatherer coughed again.'You're – you're not going to force me to go back, are you?' he said.'Um?' said the duke. He waved a hand irritably. 'No, no,' he said. 'Not at all. Just call in at the torturer on your way out. See when he can fit you in.'

George Bellows Red Sun

George Bellows Red SunGeorge Bellows Polo CrowdGeorge Bellows Gull Rock and Whitehead
monkey! In my university!'
'Orang-outang, sir. He used to be a wizard but got caught in some magic, sir, now he won't let us turn him back, and he's the only one who knows where all the books are,' said Rincewind urgently. 'I look after his bananas,' he added, feeling LIKE THIS . . . Death. Seen him lately?'
Rincewind swallowed. 'Not lately, sir.'
'Well, I want him. This nonsense has got to stop. I'm going to stop it now, see? I want the eight most senior wizards assembled here, right, in half an hour with all the necessary equipment to perform the Rite of AshkEnte, is that understood? Not that the sight of you lot gives me any confidence. Bunch of pantywaisters the lot of you, and stop trying to hold my hand!'
'Oook.'some additional explanation was called for.Albert glared at him. 'Shut up.''Shutting up right away, sir.''And tell me where Death is.''Death, sir?' said Rincewind, backing against the wall.Tall, skeletal, blue eyes, stalks, TALKS

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN EVENING

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN EVENINGThomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYSThomas Kinkade Evening Glow
said, how old do you think I am?'
'Fifteen?' he hazarded.
'I'm sixteen,' she wailed. 'And do you know how long I've been sixteen for?'
'I'm sorry, I don't under —'
'No, you wouldn't. No-one would.' She blew her nose again, and despite her shaking hands nevertheless carefully tucked the rather damp hanky back up her sleeve.
'You're allowed out,' she said. 'You haven't been here long enough to notice. Time stands still here, haven't you noticed? Oh, something passes, but it's not real time. He can't create real time.'
'Oh.'who jumped off a cliff because her father insisted she should marry this old man, and another one drowned herself rather than submit to—'
Mort listened in astonishment. To judge by Ysabell's careful choice of reading maWhen she spoke again it was in the thin, careful and above all brave voice of someone who has pulled themselves together despite overwhelming odds but might let go again at any moment.'I've been sixteen for thirty-five years.''Oh?''It was she said. 'There's some really lovely stories. There was this girl who drank poison when her young man had died, and there was one tter, it was a matter of note for any Disc female to survive adolescence long enough

Johannes Vermeer The Guitar Player

Johannes Vermeer The Guitar PlayerClaude Monet Regatta At ArgenteuilClaude Monet Woman with a Parasol
exposed in the middle of a carpet about the size of a field.
BUT WHY? said Death. IT CANT BE TO ATTEND YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S FUNERAL, he added. I WOULD KNOW.desk, making a sound not unlike a mouse tap-dancing, and gave Mort another few seconds of stare. He noticed that the boy seemed rather less elbows than he remembered, stood a little more upright and, bluntly, could use a word like 'expectancy'. It was all that library.
ALL RIGHT, he said grudgingly. BUT IT SEEMS TO ME YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED RIGHT HERE. THE DUTY IS NOT ONEROUS, IS IT?'I just want to, you know, get out and meet people,' said Mort, trying to outstare that unflinching blue gaze.BUT YOU MEET PEOPLE EVERY DAY, of more than a few minutes. Sir,' he added.Death drummed his fingers on the

Andy Warhol Shadows I

Andy Warhol Shadows IAndy Warhol OxidationAndy Warhol Neuschwanstein
great delicacy the staff turned slowly in the air until it hung in front of Granny a few inches above the ice. Frost glittered on its carvings, but it seemed to Cutangle - through the red haze of migraine that hovered in front of his eyes - to be watching him. Resentfully.
Granny you no shame, lying around sulking when you could be of some use at last?"
She leaned forward, her hooked nose a few inches from the staff. Cutangle was almost certain that the staff tried to lean backwards out of her way.adjusted her hat and straightened up purposefully. "Right," she said. Cutangle swayed. The tone of voice cut through him like a diamond saw. He could dimly remember being scolded by his mother when he was small; well, this was that voice, only refined and concentrated and edged with little bits of carborundum, a tone of command that would have a corpse standing to attention and could probably have marched it halfway across its cemetery before it remembered it was dead. Granny stood in front of the hovering staff, almost melting its icy covering by the sheer anger in her gaze. "This is your idea of proper behaviour, is it? Lying around on the sea while people die? Oh, very well done!" She stomped around in a semi-circle. To Cutangle's bewilderment, the staff turned to follow her. "So you were thrown away," snapped Granny. "So what? She's hardly more than a child, and children throw us all away sooner or later. Is this loyal service? Have

Marc Chagall The Three Candles

Marc Chagall The Three CandlesMarc Chagall Paris Through the WindowMarc Chagall Adam and Eve
met Hilta at the corner of the street. She was carrying her broomstick, the better to conduct an aerial search (with great stealth, however; the men of Ohulan were right behind Stay Long Ointment but drew the line at flying women). She was distraught.
"Not so much as a hint of her," said Granny.
"Have you been down to the river? She might have fallen in!"
"Then she'd have just fallen out again. Anyway, she can swim. I think she's hiding, drat her."
"What are we going to do?"
Granny gave her a withering look. "Hilta Goatfounder, I'm ashamed of you, acting like a cowin. Do I look worried?" "What for?"
"The screams or the bangs or the fireballs or whatever," Granny said vaguely. Hilta peered at her. "You do. A bit. Your lips have gone all thin." "I'm just angry, that's all." "Gypsies always come here for the fair, they might have taken her." Granny was prepared to believe anything about city folk but here she was on firmer ground. "Then they're a lot dafter than I'd give them credit for," she snapped. "Look, she's got the staff." "What good would that do?" said Hilta, who was close to tears. "I don't think you've understood anything I've told you," said Granny severely. "All we need to do is go back to your place and wait."
"That's heartless!"

Andy Warhol Neuschwanstein

Andy Warhol NeuschwansteinAndy Warhol Knives black and whiteAndy Warhol Guns
had much sleep lately, at the fact that he wasn't thinking quite straight. But most of all he was angry with Trymon, standing there full of the magic Rincewind had always wanted but had never achieved, and doing nothing fighter, and it often worked.
It was working now, because Trymon had spent rather too much time reading ancient manuscripts and not getting enough healthy exercise and vitamins. He managed to get several blows in, which Rincewind was far too high on rage to notice, but he only used his hands while Rincewind employed knees, feet and teeth as well.
He was, in fact, winning.
This came as a shock.worthwhile with it.He sprang, striking Trymon in the stomach with his head and flinging his arms around him in desperation. Twoflower was knocked aside as they slid along the stones.Trymon snarled, and got out the first syllable of a spell before Rincewind's wildly flailing elbow caught him in the neck. A blast of randomised magic singed Rincewind's hair.Rincewind fought as he always fought, without skill or fairness or tactics but with a great deal of whirlwind effort. The strategy was to prevent an opponent getting enough time to realise that in fact Rincewind wasn't a very good or strong

Jack Vettriano The Red Room

Jack Vettriano The Red RoomJack Vettriano The LetterJack Vettriano The Billy BoysJack Vettriano Private Dancer
they looked down, they would have seen Rincewind talking urgently to a bunch of rocks.
Trolls are onereal problems if they ever awake, but the plain fact is that without the Disc's powerful and pervasive magical field trolls would have died out a long time ago.
Psychiatry hadn't been invented on the Disc. No-one had ever shoved an inkblot under Rincewind's nose to see if he had any loose toys in the attic. So the only way he'd have been able to describe the rocks turning back into rolls was by gabbling vaguely about how pictures suddenly form when you look at the fire, or clouds.
One minute there'd be a perfectly ordinary rock, and suddenly a few cracks that had been there of the oldest lifeforms in the multiverse, dating from an early attempt to get the whole life thing on the road without all that squashy protoplasm. Individual trolls live for a long time, hibernating during the summertime and sleeping during the day, since heat affects them and makes them slow. They have a fascinating geology. One could talk about tribology, one could mention the semiconductor effects of impure silicon, one could talk about the giant trolls of prehistory who make up most of the Disc's major mountain ranges and will cause some

Vincent van Gogh Ladies of Arles

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Once you had made the necessary mental adjustments, the gingerbread cottage was quite a pleasant place. Residual magic kept it standing and it was shunned by such local wild animals who hadn't already died of terminal tooth decay. A bright fire of liquorice logs burned rather messily in the fireplace; Rincewind had tried gathering wood outside, but had given up. It's hard to burn wood that talks to you.
He he got from it. He only had to close his eyes to picture, in dribbling detail, the food stalls of a hundred different cultures in the market places. You could eat squishi or shark's fin soup so fresh that swimmers wouldn't go near it, and —
'Do you think I could buy this place?' said Twoflower. Rincewind hesitatedbelched.'This isn't very healthy,' he said. 'I mean, why sweets? Why not crispbread and cheese? Or salami, now – I could just do with a nice salami sofa.''Search me,' said Swires. 'Old Granny Whitlow just did sweets. You should have seen her meringues —''I have,' said Rincewind, 'I looked at the mattresses . . .''Gingerbread is more traditional,' said Twoflower.'What, for mattresses?''Don't be silly,' said Twoflower reasonably. Whoever heard of a gingerbread mattress?'Rincewind grunted. He was thinking of food – more accurately, of food in Ankh-Morpork. Funny how the old place seemed more attractive the further

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida UNA INVESTIGACIoN

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida UNA INVESTIGACIoNWilliam Etty Hero and LeanderBenjamin Williams Leader The Wengen Alps Morning In SwitzerlandBenjamin Williams Leader Derwentwater
circumference makes the edge of things."
"So does yet mobile, by a complicated arrangement of pulleys and little wooden wheels. They ran along the rope as the unseen rower propelled the craft along the very lip of the Rimfall. That explained one mystery - but what supported the rope?
Rincewind peered along its length and saw a stout wooden post sticking up out of the water a few yards ahead. As he watched the boat neared it and then passed it, the little wheels clacking neatly around it in a groove obviously cut for the purpose. Rincewind also noticed that smaller ropes hung down from the main rope at the Circumfence," said the troll."He means this," said Twoflower, pointing down Rincewind's eyes followed the finger, dreading what they might see...Hubwards of the boat was a rope suspended a few feet above the surface of the white water. The boat was attached to it, moored