“‘Don’t you trust me?’ ‘Who is he?’ ‘A friend: an artist who wants to paint me.’ Now it was the American’s turn to smile. ‘Well, it’s not what I was expecting, I’ll give you that. Tell me about him.’ ‘He saw me on the street and talked to me.’ ‘Just like that? He talked to you and now he’s your friend and takes you to the hotel?’ ‘I told you, he’s an artist. Things are different if you’re an artist. When he sees something beautiful he must say so.’ The smile became a grin. ‘And he said s...o to you?’ Carmen scowled at him. She wasn’t making up a story this time: she was telling the truth and all this pig could do was laugh at her. ‘Yes. He said I was beautiful.’ ‘You know I never thought of that. Just walk up to some pretty girl and say, hello there, Miss, aren’t you a pretty thing, how about a drink? And there you are. She says, sure, Mister. Of course I suppose I’d have to say I was an artist.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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