Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. If I can’t talk anywhere else—I DO want an understanding. The stairs were outside but they had been covered with a thin plastic roof. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. He stopped abruptly.
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