Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. By the by, Mr. . Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. You don't know what you have got; I do. “My Mom never gets a good night’s sleep.
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