Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. “What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. “Glaciers?” she said. " A deep indignant groan followed. She followed the official back into his room. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations. Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. ’ But I made sure it was you.
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