One morning, the painting looked so terrible, Nick felt sick.
It had to go.
It took all his strength to drag it from the wall.
It screamed and raged.
At last he got it outside and into a skip.
“Nick Moss, we’re arresting you for murder and theft…”
“No way! I’m innocent.”
“Got you red-handed, mate!” said the policeman.
It was true. Nick’s hands dripped blood. Guilt was written all over his face.
“No!” he cried.
He looked back at the painting. It was perfect again.
