Unknown Artist football

Unknown Artist footballUnknown Artist Aeneas Carrying Anchises by Carl van LooPablo Picasso BULLFIGHT DEATH OF THE TOREADOR La corridaAlbert Bierstadt Quiet PondAlbert Bierstadt A Quiet lake
of fly specks.
‘Nothing here at all,’ he said, peering closer. ‘Just the sea. And‑‘ he squinted ‑ ‘The Holy Wood. Mean anything?’
‘Isn’t that where the alchemists all went?’ said the Bursar:
‘Oh, them.’
‘I suppose’, said the Bursar slowly, ‘they wouldn’t be doing some kind of magic out there?’
‘Alchemists. Doing magic?’
‘Sorry. Ridiculous idea, I know. The porter told me they do some sort of, oh, shadow play or something. Or puppets. ,’ he said.
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ he said.
‘Not magic. Surely not?’ he said.Or something similar. Pictures. Or something. I wasn’t really paying attention. I mean . . . alchemists. Really! I mean, assassins . . . yes. Thieves . . . yes. Even merchants . . . merchants can be really devious, sometimes. But alchemists ‑show me a more unworldly, bumbling, well‑meaning . . . ‘His voice trailed off as his ears caught up with his mouth.‘They wouldn’t dare, would they?’ he said.‘Would they?’The Bursar gave a hollow laugh. ‘No‑o‑o. They wouldn’t dare! They know we’d be down on them like a ton of bricks if they tried any magic round here . . . ‘ His voice trailed off again.‘I’m sure they wouldn’t,’ he said.‘I mean, even that far away
‘I’ve never trusted those grubby‑handed bastards!’ he said. ‘They’re not like us, you know. They’ve got no idea of proper dignity!’