Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. But you don’t particularly want to do the job that sets you free—for its own sake. Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. "Coward!" cried Kneebone. Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears.
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