Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. ’ ‘Not French?’ echoed Hilary. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. He heard me; but he never came in to ask what was the matter.
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