“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. “I had found her at last, and she shot me. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. It is of no use. He insisted on buying this girl for two hundred mex. I have very few friends in Paris. ” “I don’t see why I shouldn’t. ’ His colour deepened. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption.
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