Francisco de Goya The Quail Shoot

Francisco de Goya The Quail ShootFrancisco de Goya Blind Man's Buffchilde hassam Wayside Inn Sudbury MassachusettsEdgar Degas Cafe Concert SingerEdgar Degas A Carriage at the Races
Windle Poons lurched aimlessly along a dark alley in the Shades, arms extended in front of him, hands hanging down at the wrists. He didn’t know why. It just seemed the right way to go about it. Jumping off a building? No, that wouldn’t work, either. It was hard enough to walk as it was, and two broken legs wouldn’t help. Poison? He voice.
‘Are you Thieves’ Guild?’ said Windle, without turning around.
‘No, we’re . . . freelances. Come on, let’s see the colour of your money.’ ‘Haven’t got any,’ said Windle. He turned around. There were two more muggers behind him.
‘Ye gods, look at his eyes,’ said one of them.
Windle raised his arms above his head.
imagined it would be like having a very bad stomach ache. Noose? Hanging around would probably be more boring than sitting on the bottom of the river. He reached a noisome courtyard where several alleys met. Rats scampered away from him. A cat screeched and scurried off over the rooftops.As he stood wondering where he was, why he was, and what ought to happen next, he felt the point of a knife against his backbone. ‘OK, grandad,’ said a voice behind him, ‘it’s your money or your life.’In the darkness Windle Poons’ mouth formed a horrible grin.‘I ‘m not playing about, old man, ‘ said the