Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN EVENINGThomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYSThomas Kinkade Evening GlowCamille Pissarro Still LifeCamille Pissarro Morning Sunlight on the Snow
He didn’t turn around.
‘Just put it over there,’ he said absently.
‘It’s me, Mr Silverfish,’ said Victor.
Silverfish turned around and peered vaguely at him, as if it was Victor’s fault that his name meant nothing.
‘I’ve come because of that job,’ said Victor. ‘You know?’
‘What job? But he thought: he’s going to try and wriggle out of it. He’s regretting the offer. He’s going to send me back to the queue.
‘Well, of course,’ said Silverfish, ‘a lot of very talented people What should I know?’ said Silverfish. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’ ‘I broke into moving pictures,’ said Victor. ‘But it’s nothing that a hammer and a few nails won’t put right.’ Panic bloomed on Silverfish’s face. Victor pulled out the card and waved it in what he hoped was a reassuring way. ‘In Ankh-Morpork?’ he said. ‘A couple of nights ago? You were being menaced?’ Realization dawned. ‘Oh, yes,’ said Silverfish faintly. ‘And you were the lad who was of some help.’ ‘And you said to come and see you if I wanted to move pictures,’ said Victor. ‘I didn’t, then, but I do now.’ He gave Silverfish a bright smile.