Pablo Picasso Three Women at the Spring

Pablo Picasso Three Women at the SpringPablo Picasso Three DancersPablo Picasso The ShadowPablo Picasso The Pipes of Pan
stared at the scrawled notes.
I'm on the path, he thought. I don't have to know where it leads. I just have to follow. There's always a crime, if you look hard enough. And the Assassins are in this somewhere.
Follow every lead. Check every detail. Chip, chip away.
I'm hungry.
He staggered to his He scrambled forward on hands and knees and pulled himself upright alongside the window.
Images flashed through his mind. The dead dwarf. The hole in the wall . . .
A thought seemed to start in the small of his back and spread upwards to his brain: These were lath and plaster walls, and old ones at that; you could push a finger through themfeet and looked at his face in the cracked mirror over the basin.Events of the previous day filtered through the dogged gauze of memory. Central to all of them was the face of Lord Vetinari. Vimes grew angry just thinking about that. The cool way he'd told Vimes that he mustn't take an interest in the theft from—Vimes stared at his reflection——something stung his ear and smashed the glass.Vimes stared at the hole in the plaster, surrounded by the remains of a mirror frame. Around him, the mirror glass tinkled to the floor.Vimes stood stock still for a long moment.Then his legs, reaching the conclusion that his brain was somewhere else, threw the rest of him to the floor.There was another tinkle and a half bottle of Bear-hugger's exploded on the desk. Vines couldn't even remember buying it.