Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. It’s well hidden, miss. I was certain of it. ‘Never mind that now. Dizziness overcame him like anesthetic and he slept. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it.
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