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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. So they fenced with smiles. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. He then made off. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. His glasses were gone. CHAPTER XV. I’ve got a streak of male. ’ ‘You mean Valade? Certainly not.
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