Thomas Kinkade NASCAR THUNDER

Thomas Kinkade NASCAR THUNDERThomas Kinkade LondonThomas Kinkade Light of Freedom
towards a crevice. The wizards didn’t notice it.
‘What wire baskety wheely thing?’ said the wizards, in unison.
Ridcully looked around him.
‘I could have sworn -‘ he began.
There was another scream.
Ridcully scrambled to his feet.
‘Come The Dean peered closer.’Er . . . especially because, I do believe, that’s his feet poking out from under it . . .’
The heap swivelled towards the wizards and made a glop, glop noise.
Then it moved.
‘Right, then,’ said Ridcully, rubbing his hands together hopefully, ‘which of you fellows has got a spell about them at the moment?’ The wizards patted their pockets in an embarrassed on, you fellows!’ he said, limping heroically onwards. ‘Why does everyone run towards a blood-curdling scream?’ mumbled the Senior Wrangler.’It’s contrary to all sense.’They trotted out through the cloisters and into the quadrangle.A rounded, dark shape was squatting in the middle of the ancient lawn. Steam was coming out of it in little, noisome wisps.‘What is it?’‘It can’t be a compost heap in the middle of the lawn, can it?’‘Modo will be very upset.’