I love you—unendurably. ’ Lucilla frowned. She was nestled under his bedspread. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart.
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