Thomas Kinkade A Holiday Gathering

Thomas Kinkade A Holiday GatheringCaravaggio The Entombment of ChristCaravaggio Boy with a Basket of Fruit
stopped.
‘I’m not breathing, am I.’ It wasn’t a question. She held a hand in front of her face and huffed on it.
NO.
‘I see. I’ve never enjoyed myself so much in all my life . . . ha! So . . . when
-?’MANY CHANGES.
‘I mean that I appear to be younger.’
THAT’S WHAT I MEANT ALSO.
He snapped his fingers. Binky stopped his grazing by the hedge and trotted over.
‘You know,’ said Miss Flitworth, ‘I’ve often thought . . . I often thought that everyone has their, you know, natural age. You see children of ten who act as though they’re thirty-five. Some people are born middle-aged, even. It’d be nice to think I’ve been . . .’ she looked down at herself, ‘oh, let’s say YOU KNOW WHEN YOU SAID THAT SEEING ME GAVE YOU QUITE A START? ‘Yes?’I GAVE YOU QUITE A STOP.Miss Flitworth didn’t appear to hear him. She kept turning her hand backwards and forwards, as if she’d never seen it before. ‘I see you made a few changes, Bill Door,’ she said.NO. IT IS LIFE THAT MAKES