Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter.
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