She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. “Which is Mr. ” She rang the bell, and he waited by her side until she was admitted to the tall, gloomy lodging-house.
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