Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. I don’t care. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. A sacrifice. Couldn’t make head nor tail of that note of yours. I’ve been waiting all my life to get out of this town. "I shall do no such thing. "But if my career were truly exhibited, it must be as one long struggle against destiny in the shape of—" "Jonathan Wild," interposed Gay.
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