Joseph Mallord William Turner Frosty Morning

Joseph Mallord William Turner Frosty MorningJoseph Mallord William Turner WhitbyJoseph Mallord William Turner Caernarvon CastleJoseph Mallord William Turner The Slave ShipJoseph Mallord William Turner The fighting Temeraire tugged to her last berth to be broken up
you wanted to understand Holy Wood, Victor said years afterwards, you had to understand its buildings.
You’d see a box on the sand. It’d have a roughly peaked roof, but that wasn’t important, because it never rained in Holy Wood. There’d be cracks in the walls, stuffed with old rags. The windows would be holes-glass was too fragile to come to Holy Wood, but why? He couldn’t remember. All he could remember was that, at the time, it was the obvious thing to do. There had been hundreds of good reasons.
If only he could remember one of them.
Not that his mind had any room to review memories. It was too busy being aware that he was very hungry and acutely thirsty. His pockets had yielded a total of seven pence. That wouldn’t buy a bowl of soup, let alone a good meal. to cart all the way from Ankh-Morpork. And, from behind, the front was just like a huge wooden billboard, held up by a network of struts. From the front, it was a fretted, carved, painted, ornate, baroque architectural extravaganza. In Ankh-Morpork, sensible men built their houses plain, so as not to attract attention, and kept the decoration for inside. But Holy Wood wore its houses inside out. Victor walked up what passed for the main street in a daze. He had woken up in the early hours out in the dunes. Why? He’d decided