Lorenzo Lotto Mystic Marriage of St Catherine

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could feel the Fool's eye boring into the back of his short neck.
'Yes, but dressing up as women, it's a bit—' said Thundergust doubtfully.
Tomjon slipped off his shoes and knelt down on them, bringing his face level with the dwarfs. He gave him a calculating stare for a few seconds, and then adjusted his features.
And there through Hwel's head and out the other side.
He could remember the drinking, he was certain. And the dwarfs bought lots more rounds when Tomjon did his impersonations. Then they had all gone to another bar Thundergust knew, and then they'd gone to a Klatchian takeaway, and after that it was just a blur . . .
He wasn't very good at quaffing. Too much of the drink actually landed in his mouth.
Judging by the taste in it, some incontinent creature of the night had also scored were two Thundergusts. True, one of them was kneeling and had apparently been shaved.'What ho, what ho,' said Tomjon in the dwarf's voice.This was by way of being a hilarious gag to the rest of the dwarfs, who had an uncomplicated sense of humour. As they gathered round the pair Hwel felt a gentle touch on the shoulder.'You two are with a theatre?' said the Fool, now almost sober.'S'right.''Then I've come five hundred miles to find you.' It was, as Hwel would have noted in his stage directions, Later the Same Day. The sounds of hammering as the Dysk theatre rose from its cradle of scaffolding thumped