Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. There was a shrill cry, instantly succeeded by a deep splash. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. “Why not?” he exclaimed.
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