She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. "I'm dumb. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but
jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find
them. It is a plain case
of alcoholic stupor. "
"Pshaw! you'd do as much for me any day, and think no more about it. And then, as she stood
there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon
her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. ‘Brung the lantern, I did, and opened the door
again in case you was ready. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She
looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her
pocket to wipe away the excess. Chapter IV
THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST
“You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna
said lightly. She dropped a flower—it’s in my
pocket-book now.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 05-07-2024 06:58:07