A new artist arrives and the pot thickens.

“Far be it from me to ridicule genius or to accuse anyone of silliness, but it has come to my attention that some of you are not paying attention. I must insist! Please, you over by the canister vacuum, please join the others in your group. Right this way, Miss Fabersham, let us through … move your foot, sir… there, at last.” Snetley Forrester pulled a large green and orange aluminum barstool end over and sat on the legs which were now the seat.
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Miss Fabersham sneezed and then produced a large belch. “Errrupp, Snetley. You are a twit and an aberration. Take me to the Fielding Gallery at once. I know what you are up to and it will do you no good to play it coy.” She belched again and then, deeply satisfied with herself, walked toward the door. “I’ll find my own way! Come, PeeDee Dog, follow me!” she exclaimed as she left the crowded ballroom.
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Two doors down to the left, across the vestibule, up a short flight of stairs, and there she stood, staring at a sign on which was written “The Fielding Gallery photos will arrive shortly. Please take a number and wait your turn. It will only be a few moments before the door opens and visitors are allowed in.”

With nothing to do but wait, she settled herself against a marble column and fell asleep. Her snores resounded throughout the castle.

(we’ll be back in a flash with the new image gallery…)