The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. “Sold again,” she remarked. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. I suppose it depends on her own state of mind.
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