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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"


The Lord of Pagliano's buff-coat was covered with blood where Pier Luigi
had stabbed him. But he would give the matter no thought. He was like a
tiger now. He dashed out into the antechamber, and I heard him bellowing
orders. Someone screamed horribly, and then followed a fierce din as if
the very place were coming down about our ears.
"What is it?" cried Bianca, quivering in my arms. "Are...are they
fighting?"
"I do not think so, sweet," I answered her. "We are in great strength.
Have no fear."
And then Falcone came in again.
"The Lord of Pagliano is raging like a madman," he said. "We had best be
getting away or we shall have a brush with the Captain of Justice."
Supporting Bianca, I led her from that chamber.
"Where are we going?" she asked me.
"Home to Pagliano," I answered her, and with that answer comforted that
sorely tried maid.
We found the antechamber in wreckage. The great chandelier had been
dragged from the ceiling, pictures were slashed and cut to ribbons, the
arras had been torn from the walls and the costly furniture was reduced to
fire-wood; the double-windows opening to the balcony stood wide, and not a
pane of glass left whole, the fragments lying all about the place.
Thus, it seemed, childishly almost, had Cavalcanti vented his terrible
rage, and I could well conceive what would have befallen any of the Duke's
people upon whom in that hour he had chanced.


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