Vincent van Gogh Road with Cypresses

Vincent van Gogh Road with CypressesVincent van Gogh Peach Tree in BlossomVincent van Gogh Orchard in Blossom
they might—if they knew how—mark such a spot with certain stones.
In the hope that enough daft buggers would take it as a warning, and keep away.
“Well, what’d you think?” said Granny, as the witches hur-ried home.
“The little fat quiet one’s got a bit of natural talent,” said Nanny Ogg. “I could feel it. The rest of ‘em are just along for the excitement, to my mind. Playing at witches. You know, ooh-jar boards and cards and wearing black lace gloves with no fingers to ‘em and paddlin’ with the occult.”
“I don’t hold with
“Oh, yeah. Made my hair stand on end.”
“Someone gave it to her, and I know who. Just a slip of a
67
Terry Pratehett
gel with a head full of wet ideas out of books, and suddenly she’s got the power and don’t paddlin’ with the occult,” said Granny firmly. “Once you start paddlin’ with the occult you start believing in spirits, and when you start believing in spirits you start believing in demons, and then before you know where you are you’re believing in gods. And then you’re in trouble.”“But all them things exist,” said Nanny Ogg.“That’s no call to go around believing in them. It only encourages ‘em.”Granny Weatherwax slowed to a walk.“What about her?” she said.“What exactly about her do you mean?”l “You felt the power there?”