A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. ’ Gerald could not suppress a grin. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact.
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