Herein was the sum of human knowledge in essence. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. Joyous, she felt the need of physical expression; and her body began to sway sinuously, to glide and turn and twist about the room. He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy.
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