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Updated: May 12, 2025
It is not your comrades you care about; it's I know who it is!" "Hush!" he said quietly. "You are excited and imagining things that are not true." "You suppose I am thinking of Signora Bolla? I'm not so easily duped! You only talk politics with her; you care no more for her than you do for me. It's that Cardinal!" The Gadfly started as if he had been shot. "Cardinal?" he repeated mechanically.
Jim, dear, I have so often wondered whether you would ever come to be one of us." "So have I." "You said you had done things for Bini; I didn't know you even knew him." "It wasn't for Bini; it was for the other one" "Which other one?" "The one that was talking to me to-night Bolla." "Do you know him well?" Arthur put in with a little touch of jealousy.
The judge passed the verdict down to the minute clerk, who read in a clear, distinct, monotonous tone: "Celso Fabbri, Frank Normando, mistrial. Salvatore di Marco, Frank Garcia, Giordano Bolla" the list of names seemed interminable "Gaspardo Cressi, Lorenzo Cardoni, Caesar Maruffi" he paused for an instant while time halted "not guilty."
The sense of oppression which Gemma had felt in the Gadfly's society was intensified by the gypsy's presence; and when, a moment later, the host came up to beg Signora Bolla to help him entertain some tourists in the other room, she consented with an odd feeling of relief. "Well, Madonna, and what do you think of the Gadfly?" Martini asked as they drove back to Florence late at night.
Signora Bolla, allow me to introduce to you Mme. Zita Reni." The gipsy glanced round at Gemma with a half defiant air and bowed stiffly.
"What business?" he asked in the same dull voice. "I mean, about Bolla's letter." Arthur's face contracted painfully at the name. "I thought you wouldn't have heard of it," Gemma went on; "but I suppose they've told you. Bolla must be perfectly mad to have imagined such a thing." "Such a thing ?" "You don't know about it, then?
"Take this, please," she said with mild authority; and sat down again to her knitting. The Gadfly obeyed meekly. For half an hour, neither spoke. Then the Gadfly said in a very low voice: "Signora Bolla!" She looked up. He was tearing the fringe of the couch-rug, and kept his eyes lowered. "You didn't believe I was speaking the truth just now," he began.
"The men who really killed Chief Donnelly," it read, "are Salvatore di Marco, Frank Garcia, Giordano Bolla, and Lorenzo Cardoni." Blake gasped; these were men of standing and repute in the foreign community. "Larubio and his companions were but parts of the machine; these are the hands which set them in motion.
"What has he told, so far?" "Much that is significant, little that is definite. We have pieced his words together, bit by bit, and uncovered his life an inch at a time. It was he who paid the blood money to di Marco and Bolla thousand dollars." "A thousand dollars for the life of Dan Donnelly!" The Countess lowered her yellow head. "They in turn hired Larubio, Normando, and the rest.
Another shot boomed deafeningly in the close confines of the place, and Cressi plunged to his death; then Bolla followed, his bloody hands gripping the bars, his face upturned in a hideous grimace, and his eyes, which stared through at his slayers, glazing slowly.
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