She interrupted. If I’d known, there would have been a different story. “You have them both,” Anna answered. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. ’ Her breath tightened and she was obliged to control an inner ferocity. He gave an order, the proa was floated and the sail run up. I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all.
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