Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. Did he like freaks? She opened her black umbrella, her giant sun deflector.
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