It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. She moaned as his hands explored her body, fingers crushing against her panties under her skirt. ” She turned and fitted the latchkey into the door. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet.
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