Frida Kahlo Self Portrait 1940

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait 1940Frida Kahlo My Dress Hangs ThereFrida Kahlo Diego and IDouglas Hofmann Model
the distance, towards the walls of the greater room, the metaroom or whatever it was, there was the suggestion of . . . something. Something was cast­ing complicated shadows, too far away to be clearly seen.
Susan got up on to the dais.
There was ball it swung down and thumped into the lead, just once.
She didn't try to sit in the chair. There was a deep pit in the leather. Someone had spent a lot of time sitting there.
She glanced at the spines of the books. They were in a language she couldn't understandsomething odd about the things around her. Of course, there was everything odd about the things around her, but it was a huge major oddness that was simply in their nature. She could ignore it. But there was an oddness on a human level. Every­thing was just slightly wrong, as if it had been made by someone who hadn't fully comprehended its purpose.There was a blotter on the oversize desk but it was part of it, fused to the surface. The drawers were just raised areas of wood, impossible to open. Whoever had made the desk had seen desks, but hadn't understood deskishness.There was even some sort of desk ornament. It was just a slab of lead, with a thread hanging down one side and a shiny round metal ball on the end of the thread. If you raised the