Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Listen, it is I. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. She hoped desperately that Mrs.
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