Edward Hopper Sunday painting

Edward Hopper Sunday paintingEdward Hopper Morning Sun paintingAmedeo Modigliani Reclining Nude painting
from a face not different from the one I'd snatched, only perhaps a shade less slack, a bit more moist.
Then, "Put it on!" cried Anastasia.
"Goat-Boy!" Bray warned, rising from his stool. "Do you want to Graduate, or not?"
I slipped the silk-dry mask over my head, snatched up the purse of Anastasia's mother, and charged at Scrapegoat Grate as I had used to charge the fence in kidly days. A scanner scanned and disappeared, blue sparks and smoke shot from the panel where my watch-chain was; when I hit the Grate its grid-irons slipped in slots, I was through before I knew it, they clacked behind me but I would not look.
Even as I sticked myself up from the threshold and doffed the mask, out of a pipe in the Grate-wall popped a paper, to unroll at my feet. A circle it was, size of a cheeseburger-plate; around its edge in tall block capitals my PAT-phrase, thus:



And on theverso -top, when I'd retrieved it, the heading assignment, followed by a list.
With a grin I pursed my watch -- chainless now -- and false-