John William Waterhouse My Sweet Rose

John William Waterhouse My Sweet RoseJohn William Waterhouse Gather ye rosebuds while ye mayLeonardo da Vinci Leda and the SwanLeonardo da Vinci St John in the WildernessLeonardo da Vinci The Last Supper
there were trolls, humans and dwarfs. And a few gnomes. And perhaps even a few elves, the most elusive of Discworld races. And lots of other things, which Victor had to hope were trolls dressed up, because if they weren’t, it’s stoo,’ the dwarf snapped. ‘Stop’s stoo.’
‘What I meant was, what’s in it?’ said Victor.
‘If you need to ask, you’re -not hungry enough,’ said Ginger. ‘Two stews, Fruntkin.’
Victor stared at the grey-brown stuff that was dribbled on to his plate. Strange lumps, carried to the surface by mysterious convection currents, bobbed for a moment, and then sank back downeveryone was going to be in a lot of trouble. And they were all eating, and the amazing thing was that they were not eating one another. ‘You take a plate and you queue up and then you pay for it,’ said Ginger. ‘It’s called self-serf.’ ‘You pay for it before you eat it? What happens if it’s dreadful?’ Ginger nodded grimly. ‘That’s why.’ Victor shrugged, and leaned down to the dwarf behind the lunch counter. ‘I’d like–’ ‘It’s stoo,’ said the dwarf. ‘What kind of stew?’ ‘There ain’t more’n one kind. That’s why