John William Waterhouse The Magic Circle

John William Waterhouse The Magic CircleJohn William Waterhouse PandoraJohn William Waterhouse LamiaVincent van Gogh The Yellow HouseLeonardo da Vinci Virgin of the Rocks
cleanly out of the air and glued to the rock behind it.
'Amazing how they do it, isn't it,' said Teppic. 'Animal instinct, I suppose.'
You which had shattered, its electrum sheathing peeling away. In its descent from the pyramid it had hit the statue of Hat the Vulture-Headed God, bending it double and giving it an expression of mild surprise.
A faint groan sent him tugging at the wreckage of a tent. He tore at the heavy canvas and unearthed IIb, who blinked at him in the grey light.
'It didn't work, dad!' he moaned. 'We'd almost got it up there, and then the whole thing just sort of twisted!'
The builder lifted a spar off his son's legs.Bastard gave him a haughty glare from under his sweep-the-desert eyelashes and thought: . . . Let z=ei0. cudcudcud Then dz=ie[i0]d0=izd0 or d0=dz/iz . . . Ptaclusp, still in his nightshirt, wandered aimlessly among the wreckage at the foot of the pyramid. It was humming like a turbine. Ptaclusp didn't know why, knew nothing about the vast expenditure of power that had twisted the dimensions by ninety degrees and was holding them there against terrible pressures, but at least the disturbing temporal changes seemed to have stopped. There were fewer sons around than there used to be; in truth, he could have done with finding one or two. First he found the capstone,