Explore "Klee Wyck" by Emily Carr on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Three red bulls--sluggish bestial creatures with white faces and morose bloodshot eyes--made me long to get away from the village. But I could not: there was no boat.
I knew the roof and the ricketiness of every Indian woodshed. This was the steepest roof of them all, and I was panting a bit. It is not easy to climb with a little dog in one hand and the hot breath of three bulls close behind you. Those three detestable white faces were clustered round my canvas below. They were giving terrible bellows and hoofing up the sand.