’ He slid slowly down and collapsed to the stone floor, fainting dead away. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She did her best to do this. She bussed his cheek with her small lips as he stood by the open door, and exited alone towards the sleeping house. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. “And think of the ordinary wives and mothers, with their anxiety, their limitations, their swarms of children!” Mr. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women.
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