The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. "Bring him along, Joe!" said Jackson, in a whisper to his comrade. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. “Why not? Isn’t the whole thing a lie? Isn’t her reputation, this husband of hers, the ‘Alcide’ business, isn’t it all a cursed juggle? She hasn’t the right to do it. But I wanted to find out more, partly so I could share it with him.
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