Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She held out her arms to him and smiled. ” On the inside she felt her muscles loosen with relief. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. 133 “TRY ME!” He yelled, his voice booming into the cacophony beyond the walls. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her.
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