Thomas Moran Sunset on the Moor

Thomas Moran Sunset on the MoorThomas Moran Moonlit SeascapeThomas Moran Grand Canyon of the YellowstoneThomas Moran Cresheim Glen, Wissahickon, AutumnThomas Moran Colburn's Butte, South Utah
to keep It from getting to the Library,’ said the Dean, peering through the rain that was beginning to thud on the cobbles. ‘To stay alive in reality, Things need magic to hold themselves together. They’ve got no natural morphogenic field, you see, and–‘
‘Do something! Blow it up with magic!’ shouted Ginger. ‘Oh, that poor monkey!’
‘We can’t useThey had been stepping out of the Great Hall when a giant woman had lurched past the gate with a gibbering ape in one hand. Now the Bursar was trying to control an antique broom out of the University museum while a madman behind him feverishly tried to load a crossbow.
Airborne, the Archchancellor had said. It was absolutely essential magic! That’s like pouring oil on a fire!’ snapped the Dean. ‘Besides . . . I don’t know how you go about blowing up a fifty‑foot woman. It’s not the sort of thing I’ve ever been called upon to do.’‘It’s not a woman! It’s . . . it’s a film creature, you idiot! Do you think I’m really that big?’ shouted Gin­ger. ‘It’s using Holy Wood! It’s a Holy Wood monster! From film land!’ ‘Steer, godsdamnit! Steer!’‘I don’t know how to!’‘You just have to throw your weight about!’The Bursar gripped the broomstick nervously. It’s all very well for you to say, he thought. You’re used ‘to it.