The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. ” “Why not?” “Free woman—and equal. I hate what I have to do to survive. Anna——” Again she stopped him, but this time it was not so easy. She forced herself not to think of John. “Yes. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. ” “You could never be that,” he answered, “but you are at least more serious than usual.
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