Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Stanley. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. I suppose I ought to have been a man. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast.
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