Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Lucy? Come 177 on out. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. "Pish!" exclaimed Hogarth. Men ought not to idealize any woman. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict.
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