Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. She was chaffing him about being taken for Meysey Hill, and suggested that he should be presented to me as the millionaire.
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