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Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. "Hush!" she said, putting her lean fingers to her lips. You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. Courtlaw,” she remarked. For a few minutes he kept them at bay. " Amazed at the boy's assurance, Wood left off boxing his ears for a moment, and, looking at him steadfastly, said in a grave tone, "Jack, Jack, you'll come to be hanged!" "Better be hanged than hen-pecked," retorted the lad with a malicious grin. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. ” A sudden sense of the gravity of this thing came home to Anna.


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