Paul Gauguin Yellow ChristPaul Gauguin Where Do We Come FromPaul Gauguin The Yellow Christ
Swallow!, there! Who's a good boy then? You can let him go now.'
The sack slipped from Vimes' arms.
'Bad case of Flameless Gripe,' said Lady Ramkin. 'Hope we've got it in time—'
The dragon ripped its way out of the sack and looked around for something to incinerate. Everyone tried to get out of the way.
Then its eyes crossed, you go to see Havelock?'
Vimes nodded. Never in his life, he thought, would he get used to the idea of the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork having a first name, or that anyone could ever know him well enough to call him by it.
'I've been thinking about this dinner tomorrow night.' he said desperately. 'You know, I really don't think I can—'
'Don't be silly,' said Lady Ramkin. 'You'll enjoy it. It's time you met the Right People. You know that.'
He nodded mournfully.and it hiccuped.The limestone tablet pinged off the opposite wall.'Everybody down!'They leapt for such cover as was provided by a watertrough and a pile of clinkers.The dragon hiccuped again, and looked puzzled.Then it exploded.They stuck their heads up when the smoke had cleared and looked down at the sad little crater.Lady Ramkin took a handkerchief out of a pocket of her leather overall and blew her nose.'Silly little bugger,' she said. 'Oh, well. How are you, Sam? Did
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