She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light. He believed me when I asked him to marry me. I am sorry to seem to disobey you, but I am. I am shockingly poor. And the fences are down for good. Oh, it was very bad. Another day of nonsuccess would mean many disagreeable things. 1. "Iss, Massa. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision.
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