Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. I am sorry, but you have spoilt me. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. “If only her sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians talking. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness.
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