. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. I'll do anything in reason for you, old top; but no pig in a poke. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack.
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