"Well?" he whispered. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. "But bring your glim this way. The true creative mind is always returning to battle; defeats are only temporary setbacks.
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