Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. When I promised to marry you I thought I could; I thought it was a possible arrangement. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly.
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