Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. ’ ‘I didn’t say I did not enjoy it,’ Gerald protested. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine.
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