Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. "He had been many years in this country before his assassination took place. The next moment he was by her side. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. The prisoner breathed with difficulty.
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