His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. Both started. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day.
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