Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. "Go to your own room, woman, directly, or I'll make you!" "Make me!" echoed Mrs. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. ” She slipped it on her finger, and added, in a voice she tried to make matter-of-fact: “It was given to me last week. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. I’M shaken.
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