Francois Boucher Leda and the Swan painting

Francois Boucher Leda and the Swan paintingJohannes Vermeer the Milkmaid paintingJohannes Vermeer The Love letter painting
Americans, yaar, the sisterfucking British_, -- moments during which the remaining hostages closed their eyes and prayed, because they were always most afraid when the hijackers showed signs of weakness, -- everything settled down into what began to feel like normality. Twice a day a solitary vehicle carried food and drink to _Bostan_ and left it on the tarmac. The hostages had to bring in the cartons while the hijackers watched them from the safety of the plane. Apart from this daily visit there was no contact with the outside world. The radio had gone dead. It was as if the incident had been forgotten, as if it were so embarrassing that it had simply been erased from the record. "The bastards are leaving us to rot," screamed Man Singh, and the hostages joined in with a will. "Hijras! Chootias! Shits!"
They were wrapped in heat and silence and now the spectres began to shimmer out of the corners of their eyes. The most highly strung of the hostages, a young man with a goatee beard and close-cropped curly hair,