Franz Marc Blue Horse

Franz Marc Blue HorseMarc Chagall The Three CandlesMarc Chagall Paris Through the Window
meant I didn’t hear you.’ She stood back and looked him up and down. ‘There’s still something about you I can’t put my finger on, Bill Door,’ she said. ‘Wish I knew what it was.’
The seven-foot skeleton regarded her stoically. He felt there was nothing he could say.
‘What do you ?
‘It’s sharp enough, for goodness sake.’
HOW DO YOU SHARPEN IT MORE?
‘You can’t. Sharp’s sharp. You can’t get sharper than that.’
He’d swished it aimlessly, and made a disappointed hissing noise.
And there was the grass, too.want for breakfast?’ said the old woman.‘Not that it’ll make any difference, ‘cos it’s porridge.’ Later she thought: he must have eaten it, because the bowl is empty. Why can’t I remember?And then there was the matter of the scythe. He looked at it as if he’d never seen one before. She pointed out the grass nail and the handles. He looked at them politely.HOW DO YOU SHARPEN IT, MISS FLITWORTH