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They had not so far been of much personal interest to Gerald, but tonight was different. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. She had not even endorsed it. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. Her hormones were raging stupidly. His expression altered. ’ Melusine glared.
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