‘Parbleu,’ she uttered indignantly. " Neither spinster noticed the reluctance in the tones. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Nothing seemed to be amiss.
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