Amedeo Modigliani the Reclining Nude

Amedeo Modigliani the Reclining NudeAlphonse Maria Mucha SummerAlphonse Maria Mucha SpringAlphonse Maria Mucha JOBAlphonse Maria Mucha Gismonda
'And we take no heed to these mad rumours about the king's disappearance. They are undoubtedly wild exaggerations, with no foundation,' said Koomi.
The - how long? Too long, too long! - And he should have gone to his rest long before, but the time had never been right, there was never anyone capable, they would have been lost without him, the kingdom would founder, he would be letting everyone down, and so he'd crossed the river. . . he swore every time that it was the last, but it never was, not when the chill fetched his limbs, and the decades had become - longer. And now, when his kingdom needed him, the words of a Ritual had scored themselves into the pathways of his brain and bewildered all attempts at thought.
'Er,' he said.
priests nodded while, in each mind, a tiny rumour uncurled the length of its tail. 'What rumours?' said Dios out of the corner of his mouth. 'So enlighten us, master, as to the path we must now take,' said Koomi. Dios wavered. He did not know what to do. For him, this was a new experience. This was Change. All he could think of, all that was pressing forward in his mind, were the words of the Ritual of the Third Hour, which he had said at this time for