He glanced up. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. ”) Well, they might say that, but he knew very well that before long they would regret it. Women! He is always chanting the praise of some discovery; sometimes it will be a native, often a white woman out of the stews. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. ‘What, and miss getting myself murdered?’ ‘She said she wouldn’t murder you.
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