Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. “You will have to eat soon,” he said cryptically. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. “Let’s go home. She fondled his penis which was stiff and straining against his pants. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence.
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