Thomas Kinkade Conquering the Storms

Thomas Kinkade Conquering the StormsThomas Kinkade bloomsbury cafeEdward Hopper The Martha McKeen of WellfleetEdward Hopper Rocks and SeaEdward Hopper Railroad Crossing
Dawna Time starts wavin’ at you from under your bed, jus’ you don’t come complainin’ to me.’
‘What are you going on about?’ said Victor.
‘Oh, nothin’. Nothin’.’
Dibbler looked up, caught sight of Victor’s craning face, and waved at it.
‘You, lad! Come here! Have I got a part for you!’
‘Have you?’ said Victor, pushing his way through the crowd.
‘That’s what I said!’
‘No, you asked if-’ Victor began, and gave up.
‘And where’s Miss Ginger, may I ask?’ said Dibbler. ‘Late again?’
‘ . . . prob’ly sleepin’ in . . . ‘ grumbled a sullen and totally ignored voice from down below in the sea of legs, ‘. . . prob’ly takes it out of you, messin’ with the occult . . . ‘
‘Soll, send someone to fetch her here-’ ‘. . . wot can you expect, huh, people who like cats’re capable of anythin’, you can’t trust ‘em. . . ’ ‘And find someone to transcribe the bed.’ ‘Yes, Uncle.’ ‘ . . . but do they listen! Not them. Bet if I had a glossy coat an’ ran aroun’ yappin’ they’d listen all right . . . ‘ Dibbler opened his mouth to speak, and then frowned and raised a hand. ‘Where’s that muttering coming from?’ he said. ‘ . . . prob’ly saved the whole world for ‘em, by rights I’d get a statchoo put up to me nose but no, oh no, not for you Mr Gaspode, on account of you not bein’ the right kinda person, so . . . ‘ The whine stopped. The crowd shuffled aside, revealing
‘Yes, Uncle.’ a small bowlegged grey dog, which looked up impassively at Dibbler.
‘Bark?’ it said, innocently.