Anna watched her with curious eyes. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting.
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