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She sang the delicious duet of the 'Nabucodonosore, with Count Pizzicato, with a bellezza, a grandezza, a raggio, that excited in the bosom of the audience a corresponding furore: her scherzando was exquisite, though we confess we thought the concluding fioritura in the passage in Y flat a leetle, a very leetle sforzata. Surely the words, 'Giorno d'orrore, Delire, dolore, Nabucodonosore,
Then he looked at her with the eyes of pity: and he stood near her and took her face in his hands and pressed it fondly, and said: "Poor little woman!" She made to thrust him away. He said: "You must not be afraid of me. I love you." Then the tears trickled down her pale cheeks. He knelt down by her and kissed "La lunga man d'ogni bellezza piena...."
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