Paul Cezanne Leda with SwanPaul Cezanne House and TreesPaul Cezanne A Modern OlympiaLaurie Maitland Autumn Song
'Yesh,' said Cohen, and sighed. Thatsh right, boy. I'm a in my own legend.'
'Gosh,' said Rincewind. 'How old are you, exactly?'
'But you were the greatest!' said Bethan. 'Bards still sing songs about you.'
Cohen shruggedyou have there, boy.'
Rincewind looked away, unable to look Bethan in the face. Then his heart sank. Twoflower was still leaning against the tree, peacefully unconscious, and looking as reproachful as was possible in the circumstances.
Cohen appeared to remember him, too. He got unsteadily to his feet and shuffled over to the tourist. He humbed both eyes open, examined the graze, felt the pulse.
'He'sh gone,' he said., and gave a little yelp of pain.'I never get any royaltiesh,' he said. He looked moodily at the snow. That'sh the shaga of my shoop. Shoop! I hate shoop!'Bethan's forehead wrinkled. 'Shoop?''Soup,' explained Rincewind.Yeah, shoop,' said Cohen, miserably. 'It'sh my teeths, you shee. No-one takes you sheriously when you've got no teeths, they shay "Shit down by the fire, grandad, and have sHome shoo—" Cohen looked sharply at Rincewind. That'sh a nashty cough