Paul Cezanne The Railway Cutting

Paul Cezanne The Railway CuttingPaul Cezanne The Hanged Man's HousePaul Cezanne Table Corner
says all the gentry—“
A tang on the wind, the sharp tin taste of snow ...
“—in Ankh-Morpork laughed at it for weeks and weeks,” he said. “It was on Broad Way for three months.”
“What’s armpit in a cow’s backside on a snowy night. Hah!”
“And there ain’t one of ‘em that—what’re you talking about? You ain’t got a cow.”
“No, but I know what it’s like.”
“They don’t know what it’s like to get one wellie sucked off in a farmyard full of gyppoe and that horrible moment where you waves the foot around knowin’ that wherever you puts it down it’s going to go through the crust.”
The stoneware jug glugged gently as it was passed from hand to unsteady hand.Broad Way?”“That’s where all the theaters are. The Dysk, Lord Wynkin’s Men, the Bearpit...”“They’d laugh at any damn thing down there,” said Weaver. “Anyway, they all think we’m all simpletons up here. They all think we say oo-aah and sings daft folk songs and has three brain cells huddlin’ together for warmth ‘cos of drinking scumble all the time.”“Yeah. Pass that jug.”“Swish city bastards.”“They don’t know what it’s like to be up to the