Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. ” “Wait,” she said. He will tell you confidentially that he simply hates the place. I undid his coat, and I took it from his pocket. Joyous, she felt the need of physical expression; and her body began to sway sinuously, to glide and turn and twist about the room. She used to play violin, you know. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. “Anna,” he said, “you make it all indescribably hard for me. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. “One doesn’t want to turn the whole thing into a mere sex antagonism. " "O Jack, dear, dear Jack!" cried Mrs.
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