John Singer Sargent The Breakfast Table

John Singer Sargent The Breakfast TableRembrandt Susanna and the EldersRembrandt Diana Bathing with the Stories of Actaeon and CallistoRembrandt Christ On The CrossRembrandt Christ Driving The Money Changers From The Temple
'Yeah!'
'Are you secret?'
'Yeah!'
Hwel drew himself to his full height, such as it was.
'What-are-you?' he screamed.
'We're scheming evil secret black and midnight hags!'
'Right!' He pointed a vibrating finger towards the stage and lowered his voice and, at that moment, a dramatic inspirationsame, no matter how enthusiastically it was shaken.
Just once, he thought, just once. Let me get it right just once.
He opened his eyes and glared at the witches.
'What are you hanging around here for?' he yelled. 'Get out there and curse them!'
He watched them scamper on to the stage, and then Tomjon tapped him on the head. dived through the atmosphere and slammed into his creative node, causing him to say, 'Now I want you to get out there and give 'em hell. Not for me. Not for the goddam captain.' He shifted the butt of an imaginary cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, and pushed back a non-existent tin helmet, and rasped, 'But for Corporal Walkowski and his little dawg.'They stared at him in disbelief.On cue, someone shook a sheet of tin and broke the spell.Hwel rolled his eyes. He'd grown up in the mountains, where thunderstorms stalked from peak to peak on legs of lightning. He remembered thunderstorms that left mountains a different shape and flattened whole forests. Somehow, a sheet of tin wasn't the