She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. She could think of nothing more to say. “Hi John. She wants that and needs it more than anything else in the world. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. What a God-forsaken fool he was! And dimly, out there somewhere in the South Seas—the beach! Already he sensed the fascination of the inevitable; and with this fascination came the idea of haste, to get there quickly and have done. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. Determined, however, not be taken with life, he held on.
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