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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"

With difficulty I controlled
myself under that taunt--the cruellest he could have flung at me in
Bianca's hearing.
"Your business here?" I snarled.
He held out the parchment, his eyes watching me intently, so that they
never once strayed to Bianca.
"Read, St. Mountebank," he bade me.
I took the paper, but before I lowered my eyes to it, I gave him warning.
"If on your part you attempt the slightest treachery," I said, "you shall
be repaid in kind. My men are at the winches, and they have my orders that
at the first treacherous movement on your part they are to take up the
bridge. You will see that you could not reach the end of it in time to
save yourself."
It was his turn to change colour under the shadow of his beaver. "Have you
trapped me?" he asked between his teeth.
"If you had anything of the Anguissola besides the name," I answered, "you
would know me incapable of such a thing. It is because I know that of the
Anguissola you have nothing but the name, that you are a craven, a dastard
and a dog, that I have taken my precautions."
"Is it your conception of valour to insult a man whom you hold as if bound
hand and foot against striking you as you deserve?"
I smiled sweetly into that white, scowling face.
"Throw down your gauntlet upon this bridge, Cosimo, if you deem yourself
affronted, if you think that I have lied; and most joyfully will I take it
up and give you the trial by battle of your seeking.


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