Thomas Kinkade San Francisco Fisherman's Wharf painting

Thomas Kinkade San Francisco Fisherman's Wharf paintingThomas Kinkade Paris City of Lights paintingThomas Kinkade New Horizons painting
But look here," he said at last, patting my shoulder, "if You really promise to let bygones be bygones, You can count on me to put in a good word for You with Stacey."
When I asked what exactly he meant, he winked. "She had marrying that dirty-minded draft-dodger in the first place! But Stacey listens to her Grandpa Reg, and if I was to tell her the G.T. loves her. . . Not that You haven't told her so already, eh?" He nudged me with his elbow.
"A Grand Tutor loves the whole student body," I told him coldly, adding that if he felt so beholden to me as to pimp for his married granddaughter, he was flunkèd indeed, and had better heed my counsel about herding goats. Not to lose my temper further at his pandering to the image of Harold Bray, I turned my back on his expostulations and left the office. At that very moment, as if to remind me of , the crowd outside set up a shout. But another came from behind me, like an answer to the first: a woman's cry: "You'renot my Giles!"
It was Mother, crazy-eyed and pointing from behind the ex-Chancellor. In vain the young receptionist tried to coax her back into the farther room; in vain Reginald Hector said, "Whoa down, Gin" -- his own eyes still flashing wrath at me. She pushed past him with her claws out and would have attacked me if they'd not caught