Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. Her head rose. Very well, I give up. It was still profoundly dark; but the wind, which had begun to blow with some violence, chased the clouds rapidly across the heavens, and dispersed the vapours hanging nearer the earth. She delighted in frustrating him.
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