Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Oh, yes; of Ruth herself he knew much; but the more he mulled over what he knew, the deeper grew his chagrin. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. It is Thérèse. That had shut him up for a while.
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