Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. A dissipated, loose-living man. A small voice greeted her, hissing. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. In the beginning Ah Cum would run his glance speculatively over the assortment and select that individual who promised to be the most companionable. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. Sophie'nin hikayesi, tutkusu ve yaratıcılığı sayesinde nasıl bir başyapıt icat ettiğini gösteriyor. I’ve wanted you—always. “John, did those roses cost a fortune?” “Like I’m going to tell you!” “Oh, John, they were so pretty, but they must have cost an arm and a leg, and you should be saving for college. ” “Do you?” “We were great friends at school. Other girls gathered around like sheep.
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