Henri Matisse Odalisques

Henri Matisse OdalisquesHenri Matisse OdalisqueHenri Matisse Music
He was proved right when the following morning revealed that the ten barrels of peach brandy had, indeed, turned into something nasty.
Esk wandered aimlessly through the grey streets until she reached Ohulan's tiny river docks. Broad flat-bottomed barges bobbed gently against the wharves, and one or two of them curled wisps of smoke from friendly stovepipes. Esk clambered easily on to the nearest, and used the staff to lever up the oilcloth that covered most Here she was, then. But "here" had moved.
"This is what they call sailing, then," she said, watching the far bank glide past, "It doesn't seem very special."of it. A warm smell, a mixture of lanolin and midden, drifted up. The barge was laden with wool. It's silly to go to sleep on an unknown barge, not knowing what strange cliffs may be drifting past when you awake, not knowing that bargees traditionally get an early start (setting out before the sun is barely up), not knowing what new horizons might greet one on the morrow .... You know that. Esk didn't. Esk awoke to the sound of someone whistling. She lay quite still, reeling the evening's events across her mind until she remembered why she was here, and then rolled over very carefully and raised the oilcloth a fraction.