Tosspint rises early. Sprung from a nightmare's claw. Thrice crows the dawn cock. The mist is on the moor. . Tosspint cries from croaking gills. Thank God I'm not forsaken.
The guests are stood in silence. They stare and drink their wine. On the wall the canvas hangs. Frozen there in time. . They marvel at the beauty. The horror and despair.