Be so good as to let me pass, sir,” she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. “Get me some brandy and my bag. ’ She shrugged fatalistically. ‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. Then pain entered their depths. The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight.
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