Marc Chagall Rain

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, at least I can say that I—' Nanny began.
Both voices faded to a mutter. There was a long edgy silence.
'I think,' said Magrat, with brittle brightness, 'that perhaps it would be a good idea if we all go back to our little cottages and do it in our own way. You know. Separately. It's been a long day and we're all rather tired.'
'Good idea,' said Granny firmly, and stood up. 'Come, Nanny Ogg,' she snapped. 'It's been a long day and we're all rather tired.'
Magrat heard them bickering as they wandered down the path.
She sat rather sadly amidst the coloured candles, holding a small bottle of extremely thaumaturgical incense that she .
'He'll always remember the words.'had ordered from a magical supplies emporium in faraway Ankh-Morpork. She had been rather looking forward to trying it. Sometimes, she thought, it would be nice if people could be a bit kinder . . .She stared at the ball.Well, she could make a start.'He will make friends easily,' she whispered. It wasn't much, she knew, but it was something she'd never been able to get the hang of.Nanny Ogg, sitting alone in her kitchen with her huge tomcat curled up on her lap, poured herself a nightcap and through the haze tried to remember the words of verse seventeen of the Hedgehog song. There was something about goats, she recalled, but the details eluded her. Time abraded memory.She toasted the invisible presence.'A bloody good memory is what he ought to have,' she said