John Constable The Hay Wain

John Constable The Hay WainJohn Constable Salisbury CathedralJohn Constable Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows
That's wizards for you, he thought gloomily as he waded between the dripping arches, always probing the infinite but never noticing the definite, especially in the matter of household chores. We never had this trouble before that woman came.
He squelched up the steps, lit by a particularly impressive flash of lightning. He had a cold certainty that while of course spots where magic was leaking from the cellars, but there was no one to be seen.
Unless, of course, one of the statues had spoken. They had been too heavy to move, and Trestle remembered telling the students that a thorough wash would probably do them good.no one could possibly blame him for all this, everybody would. He seized the hem of his robe and wrung it out wretchedly, then he reached for his tobacco pouch. It was a nice green waterproof one. That meant that all the rain that had got into it couldn't get out again. It was indescribable. He found his little clip of papers. They were fused into one lump, like the legendary pound note found in the back pockets of trousers after they have been washed, spun, dried and ironed. "Bugger," he said, with feeling. "I say! Treatle!" Treatle looked around. He had been the last to leave the hall, where even now some of the benches were beginning to float. Whirlpools and patches of bubble marked the