John William Waterhouse Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus

John William Waterhouse Nymphs Finding the Head of OrpheusJohn William Waterhouse JulietJohn William Waterhouse Flora and the ZephyrsJohn William Waterhouse Apollo and DaphneVincent van Gogh On the Outskirts of Paris
Gaspode considered barking loudly, and then if anyone drew attention to this afterwards he could always say it was to frighten her. Trouble was, he had about enough wind left for a threatening wheeze.
Ginger topped a rise and went down into the little dell among the trees.
Gaspode -supple frame and withdrew from his teeth. Plates appeared in front of him not laden with the multi-coloured and mysterious organs that he was normally expected to eat but with dark red steak. There was sweet water, no, there was beer in a bowl with his name on it. Tantalizing odours on the air suggested that a number of lady dogs would be happy to make his acquaintance after he had drunk and dined. Thousands of people thought staggered after her, righted himself, opened his mouth to whimper a warning, and almost swallowed his tongue. The door had opened several inches. More sand rolled down the heap even as Gaspode watched. And he could hear voices. They didn’t seem to be speaking words but the bones of words, meaning without disguise. They hummed around his bullet head like mendicant mosquitoes, begging and cajoling and -he was the most famous dog in the world. The knots unravelled from his coat, the frayed patches sprouted glossy curls, his fur grew on his suddenly