Chapter IV
THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST
“You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna
said lightly. "You'll get nothing out of me, I can promise you, unless you
show a little more civility. Blueskin is booked. This was an imitation of the noises
made by the carnivora at the Zoological Gardens at feeding-time; the idea was
taken up by prisoner after prisoner until the whole place was alive with barkings,
yappings, roarings, pelican chatterings, and feline yowlings, interspersed with
shrieks of hysterical laughter. Here was no crooked soul; a little
weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. ”
Anna lifted her hand and pushed open the trap door. She could no longer wait. ”
John’s father, Thomas, strode into the front hall at
that moment in his golf clothes. I have
been sitting with him ever since. Things now began to wear so serious a aspect that a messenger was secretly
despatched to the Savoy for troops, and in half an hour a regiment of the guards
arrived, who by dint of great exertion succeeded in partially dispersing the
tumultuous assemblage. The tears flowed faster. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one
alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. The doctor and Anna were left alone. Only
you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to
have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering.
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