Georges Seurat Le Chahut

Georges Seurat Le ChahutWilliam Blake NebuchadnezzarWilliam Blake Jacob's Ladder
That man is a skelington,’ and had turned to see a small child in a nightdress watching him over the top of the bar, without terror but with a sort of fascinated horror.
The in their senses, which they filled in some- where inside their heads with something they preferred to encounter. But the adults’ inability to see him clearly wasn’t proof against this sort of insistent declaration, and he could feel the puzzlement around him. Then, just in time, its mother had come in from the back room and had taken the child away. There’d been muffled complaints on the lines of ‘ - a skelington, with all bones on -‘ disappearing around the bend in the stairs. And all the time the ancient clock over the fireplace had been ticking, ticking, chopping seconds off his life. There’d seemed so many of them, not long ago . . .
landlord, who by now Bill Door knew to be called Lifton, had laughed nervously and apologised.‘That’s just her fancy,’ he said.’The things children say, eh? Get on with you back to bed, Sal. And say you’re sorry to Mr Door.’ ‘He’s a skelington with clothes on,’ said the child.’Why doesn’t all the drink fall through?’He’d almost panicked. His intrinsic powers were fading, then. People could not normally see him - he occupied a blind spot
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