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E poi m'ha detto con un bel sorriso; Io no, non posso star da te diviso, Da te diviso non ci posso stare E torno per mai pin non ti lasciare. Miss Heyburn sighed, and looked up from her work. "Can't you sing something in English, Gabrielle? It would be much better," she remarked in a snappy tone. The girl's mouth hardened slightly at the corners, and she closed the piano without replying.
Io drew a deep, tremulous breath. "Yes; it's like that. What a voice! And what an art to be buried out here! It's one of her own songs, I think. Probably an unpublished one." "Her own? Does she write music?" "She is Royce Melvin, the composer. Does that mean anything to you?" He shook his head. "Some day it will.
And if thy heart doth in truth wince with jealousy, think on Io." He undid her arms, flung her from him and disappeared into the dark. Masanath, suffocating with wrath and rebellion and overpowered with an exaggerated appreciation of her shame, tumbled down in the shadows of the narrow passage and wrapped her mantle around her head.
Apparently no one had set eyes on Peter, and every one seemed to imply that she ought io know more about him than any one else. It was past mid-day before she was back at Vauroque, but Mrs. Guilie was still standing in the doorway of Peter's empty house as if she had been looking out for news of him ever since. "Eh b'en? Have you found him?" she cried.
INGENUOUS YOUTH! if, in a constant perusal of the master-writers, you see your own sentiments anticipated if, in the tumult of your mind, as it comes in contact with theirs, new sentiments arise if, sometimes, looking on the public favourite of the hour, you feel that within which prompts you to imagine that you could rival or surpass him if, in meditating on the confessions of every man of genius, for they all have their confessions, you find you have experienced the same sensations from the same circumstances, encountered the same difficulties and overcome them by the same means; then let not your courage be lost in your admiration, but listen to that "still small voice" in your heart which cries with CORREGGIO and with MONTESQUIEU, "Ed io anche son pittore!"
What I started to write you about was Hemingway's duplicate whist party which was pulled off last night. I had a bid, and as there was nothing else stirring, I put on that boy's size dress suit of mine, and blew out there. Jim, you know the signs you see on the dummies in front of these little Yiddisher stores, "Take me home for $io.98," or "I used to be $6.21, now I'm yours for $3.39."
Banneker had formulated for his own use and comfort the fallacy which has since become standard for all journalists unwilling or unable to face the issue of their own responsibility to the public. He now gave it forth confidently. "A newspaper, Io, is like a billboard. Any one has a right to hire it for purposes of exploiting and selling whatever he has to sell.
As yet there was no sign visible from his far-horizoned home, except a filmy and changeful wreath of palest cloud with which Mount Carstairs was bedecked. Banneker decided for silence. Miss Van Arsdale was much better when he rode over in the morning, but Io looked piteously worn and tired. "You've had no rest," he accused her, away from the sick woman's hearing.
She did not know who he was, but thought that he was a prince from some far-off land; for he came in the guise of a young man, and did not look like the great king of earth and sky that he was. But Juno, the queen who lived with Jupiter and shared his throne in the midst of the clouds, did not love Io at all.
It would be so like Io's imperious temper to take the decision into her own hands, to bring about a meeting between the long-sundered lovers, to cast into the lonely and valiant woman's darkening life one brief and splendid glow of warmth and radiance. For to Io, a summons for Willis Enderby to come would be no more than a defiance of the conventions.
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