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Gustavo's eyes roved wildly until they lighted on the tennis-court. 'He he stay, signorina, to play lawn-tennis wif me, but he go to-morrow. 'Oh, he is going to-morrow? What's his name, Gustavo? She put the question indifferently while she stooped to pet a tortoise-shell cat that was curled asleep on the bench. 'His name? Gustavo's face cleared. 'I get ze raygeester; you read heem yourself.
That young man's name is no more Abraham Lincoln than Victor Emmanuel II. When did he write that, and why? Gustavo's eyes were on the lira; he broke down and told the truth. 'Yesterday night, signorina. He say, "Ze next time zat Signorina Americana who is beautiful as ze angels come to zis hotel she look in ze raygeester, an' I haf it feex ready." 'Oh, he said that, did he? 'Si, signorina.
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