It might be that I had killed Fifanti. It might be. And slowly,
gradually I grew cold with the thought and the apprehension of its horrid
meaning.
Then from the passage came a stifled scream, and Giuliana staggered
forward, one hand holding flimsy draperies to her heaving bosom, the other
at her mouth, which had grown hideously loose and uncontrolled. Her
glowing copper hair, all unbound, fell about her shoulders like a mantle.
Behind her with ashen face and trembling limbs came old Busio. He was
groaning and ringing his hands. Thus I saw the pair of them creep forward
to approach Fifanti, who had made no sound since my sword had gone through
him.
But Fifanti was no longer there to heed them--the faithful servant and the
unfaithful wife. All that remained, huddled there at the foot of the
table, was a heap of bleeding flesh and shabby garments.
It was Giuliana who gave me the information. With a courage that was
almost stupendous she looked down into his face, then up into mine, which I
doubt not was as livid.
"You have killed him," she whispered. "He is dead."
He was dead and I had killed him! My lips moved.
"He would have killed me," I answered in a strangled voice, and knew that
what I said was a sort of lie to cloak the foulness of my deed.
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