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"Miss Abbott," he murmured, speaking quickly, as if their free intercourse might soon be ended, "what is the matter with you? I thought I understood you, and I don't. All those two great first days at Monteriano I read you as clearly as you read me still. I saw why you had come, and why you changed sides, and afterwards I saw your wonderful courage and pity.
But the tunes would not go out of her head, and all night long she was troubled by torrents of music, and by applause and laughter, and angry young men who shouted the distich out of Baedeker: Poggibonizzi fatti in la, Che Monteriano si fa citta! Poggibonsi was revealed to her as they sang a joyless, straggling place, full of people who pretended.
I actually hated society for a day or two at Monteriano. I didn't see that all these things are invincible, and that if we go against them they will break us to pieces. Thank you for listening to so much nonsense." "Oh, I quite sympathize with what you say," said Philip encouragingly; "it isn't nonsense, and a year or two ago I should have been saying it too.
And that remembrance, together with Harriet, and the darkness, and the poor idiot, and the silent rain, filled him with sorrow and with the expectation of sorrow to come. Monteriano had long disappeared, and he could see nothing but the occasional wet stem of an olive, which their lamp illumined as they passed it.
This outburst of violence from his elegant ladylike mother pained him dreadfully. He had not known that it was in her. "She won't accept won't accept the letter as final. You must go to Monteriano!" "I won't!" he shouted back. "I've been and I've failed. I'll never see the place again. I hate Italy." "If you don't go, she will." "Abbott?" "Yes. Going alone; would start this evening.
He knew the landmarks pretty well: here was the crossroad to Poggibonsi; and the last view of Monteriano, if they had light, would be from here. Soon they ought to come to that little wood where violets were so plentiful in spring. He wished the weather had not changed; it was not cold, but the air was extraordinarily damp. It could not be good for the child.
You will have to take me with you!" Opposite the Volterra gate of Monteriano, outside the city, is a very respectable white-washed mud wall, with a coping of red crinkled tiles to keep it from dissolution. It would suggest a gentleman's garden if there was not in its middle a large hole, which grows larger with every rain-storm.
That's what I thought what I thought at Monteriano." "Why, Miss Abbott," he cried, "you should have told me this before! Think it still! I agree with lots of it. Magnificent!" "Now Lilia," she went on, "though there were things about her I didn't like, had somehow kept the power of enjoying herself with sincerity.
When the bewildered tourist alights at the station of Monteriano, he finds himself in the middle of the country. There are a few houses round the railway, and many more dotted over the plain and the slopes of the hills, but of a town, mediaeval or otherwise, not the slightest sign.
"Gino's father is courtesy itself, and rising rapidly in his profession. This very month he leaves Monteriano, and sets up at Poggibonsi. And for my own poor part, I think what people are is what matters, but I don't suppose you'll agree. And I should like you to know that Gino's uncle is a priest the same as a clergyman at home."
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