Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly. The latch had not fully caught. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. These sisters moved in a grown-up world inaccessible to Ann Veronica’s sympathies, and to a large extent remote from her curiosity. “Isn’t there a brother to kick him?” “Mere satisfaction,” reflected Ogilvy. ‘Parbleu,’ came indignantly from the lady. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one. She calls him a pig, and she says he ain’t Valade. " "Nay, if you're bent upon this folly," observed Wild, who appeared to have his own reasons for humouring the lad, "I shan't hinder you. ” “And such a beast of a one,” Sydney remarked vigorously. Yet her embarrassment was only a passing thing. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. " The envelope contained exactly five hundred dollars.
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