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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"


"Nothing," she answered frankly. "But that another may have raised his
eyes to her is something. I am honest with you. If this child is aught to
you, and you would not lose her, you would do well to guard her more
closely than you are wont. A word in season. That is all my message."
"Stay!" I begged her now, for already she was gliding away through the
shadows of the gallery.
She laughed over her shoulder at me--the very incarnation of effrontery and
insolence.
"Have I moved you into sensibility?" quoth she. "Will you condescend to
questions with one whom you despise?--as, indeed," she added with a
stinging scorn, you have every right to do."
"Tell me more precisely what you mean," I begged her, for her words had
moved me fearfully.
"Gesu!" she exclaimed. "Can I be more precise? Must I add counsels? Why,
then, I counsel that a change of air might benefit Madonna Bianca's health,
and that if my Lord of Pagliano is wise, he will send her into retreat in
some convent until the Duke's visit here is at an end. And I can promise
you that in that case it will be the sooner ended. Now, I think that even
a saint should understand me."
With that last gibe she moved resolutely on and left me.
Of the gibe I took little heed. What imported was her warning.


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