Henri Matisse Still Life with Oranges

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counted under his breath and scampered forward. Steam washed over him.
He slipped again, and thrust out his hands.
He could feel himself losing control. There were too many things to operate. Never mind the spleen, just keeping heart and lungs going was taking too much effort...
‘Topiary !’
‘What the heck do you mean?’
‘Topiary! Get it? Yo!’
‘Oook!’on the floor, the trolley bounced off the wall, and then it righted itself and rattled away.
Windle was only vaguely aware of voices.
‘Off you go, Dean. I know you’ve been looking forward to it.’ That was the Archchancellor.
‘Yo!’
‘You’ll kill it totally? I don’t think we want it ending up Windle looked up through foggy eyes.Ah. Obviously he was losing control of his brain, too.A trolley came sideways out of the steam with shadowy figures clinging one arm that was barely an arm any more reached down, picked him up bodily and dumped him into the basket. Four tiny wheels skidded