Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. ” “No, that’s okay. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. Melusine did not attempt to speak.
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