“Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. Her heels made contact with Rhea’s knees and hobbled her with a crack. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. \"Mike, don't call Lucy a liar.
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