They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. They talked across their meal in an easy and friendly manner about Ann Veronica’s affairs. They happen to a man. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. She had been to San Francisco, and what I learned about the world was from her. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. “That is where I got confused,” he said. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously.
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