Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. “Why?” he asked, suavely. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. "Well, that beats all I ever heard of!" roared Blueskin. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. Larry kept digging heartily into his spaghetti, not intrigued in the slightest.
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