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Sabatini, Rafael, 1875-1950

"The Strolling Saint; being the confessions of the high and mighty Agostino D'Anguissola, tyrant of Mondolfo and Lord of Carmina in the state of Piacenza"


At the time I thought him greatly daring, little dreaming that, forewarned
of the Duke's coming, his measures were taken, and that one blast from the
silver whistle that hung upon his breast would have produced a tide of men-
at-arms that would have engulfed and overwhelmed Messer Pier Luigi and his
suite.
Farnese dismissed the matter with a casual laugh. And then a lazy,
drawling voice--a voice that once had been sweetest music to my ears, but
now was loathsome as the croaking of Stygian frogs--addressed me.
"Why, here is a great change, sir saint! We had heard you had turned
anchorite; and behold you in cloth of gold, shining as you would out-dazzle
Phoebus."
I stood palely before her, striving to keep the loathing from my face, and
I was conscious that Bianca had suddenly turned and was regarding us with
eyes of grave concern.
"I like you better for the change," pursued Giuliana. "And I vow that you
have grown at least another inch. Have you no word for me, Agostino?"
I was forced to answer her. "I trust that all is well with you, Madonna,"
I said.
Her lazy smile grew broader, displaying the dazzling whiteness of her
strong teeth. "Why, all is very well with me," said she, and her sidelong
glance at the Duke, half mocking, half kindly with an odious kindliness,
seemed to give added explanations.


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