He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon.
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