Henri Rousseau The Merry Jesters

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is peering in at her.’
She waddled out of the tent. From the tent next door came a metallic chinking noise and the sound of Ginger’s voice raised in complaint.
Victor made a few experimental slashes with the sword.
Gaspode They’re even worse than yours.’
‘Mine? What’s wrong with mine?’
Detritus the troll stuck his head through the tent flaps. ‘Mr Dibbler says he wants you now,’ he said.
‘Eyes?’ said Victor. ‘Something about my eyes?’
‘Woof.’
‘Mr Dibbler says–’ Detritus began.
‘All right, all right! I’m coming!’
Victor stepped out of his tent at the same time as Ginger stepped out of hers. He shut watched him with his head on one side. ‘What’re you supposed to be?’ he said at last. ‘A leader of a pack of desert bandits, apparently,’ said Victor. ‘Romantic and dashing.’ ‘Dashing where?’ ‘Just dashing generally, I guess. Gaspode, what did you mean when you said it’s got Dibbler?’ The dog gnawed at a paw. ‘Look at his eyes,’ he said. ‘