Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. ” “But I love you. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. She, however, had no idea of doing anything of the sort. 92 She did not notice the police car sitting near the Beck house until they were pulling into the driveway. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. Had this not been the case, he must have refused even to see his Frenchified granddaughter.
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