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The simple girl, interpreting that squeeze as an expression of love, said: 'Oh, my Edoardo, you will ever love me? 'Ever, ever, replied Edoardo, wiping away a tear. He then muttered to himself: 'Poor, poor Sophia! she was an Angel, and I am a villain.
He had suffered himself to be fascinated by the fierce delight which is found in gaming; play had become his occupation, his chief need. Play and its effects, the orgies that precede, the excesses that follow, were the life of Edoardo.
No one divided with her this pious office, except the Countess Galeazzi, the mysterious guest of that house, and she came but seldom to the chamber of suffering. But the last hour had struck for the Signora Cadori. With her dying breath she spoke of Edoardo. 'You love, she said, 'and your love may be the source of good to you.
'If you did love her? oh, then, you would he the most infamous of men you would he a monster. But no; you cannot have forgotten your vows; you cannot have forgotten all your words, our life of six years. Then rising, and throwing herself on her knees: 'Oh! Forgive me, Edoardo; forgive my words. I rave; I know not what I say!
Edoardo Mascheroni's early laurels were won as a conductor, but in 1901 he sprang into fame as the composer of 'Lorenza, an opera which has met with much success in various cities of Spain and Spanish America as well as in Italy.
It is a sort of transcendental omelette. But I think the pretty woman has more to do with it than metaphysics! All this while Edoardo had bestowed devout attention on his supper. But it appeared that the drift of our discourse had not been lost by him. 'Well, he said, 'you finely fibred people dissect and analyse. I am content with the spettacolo. That pleases. What does a man want more?
Go go, Edoardo; prepare yourself for the ceremony: they are waiting for you. I have no more reproaches to make you no more right to make them. All was in that wreath, and in renouncing that, I have renounced this. Go I have need of not seeing you. I promise you that when you return I will be no longer here to trouble you with my presence.
He had been told to love virtue and to hate vice, but no one had furnished him with a criterion for distinguishing true virtue from its counterfeit. The temper of Edoardo was ardent and hasty, but flexible and weak. Nature had made him good, but society could make him very bad. He was like a ship without a good pilot one to become good or bad according to circumstances.
It had a conflict of passions, a rhythmical progression of emotions, a tragic climax in the triumph of good over evil. At the end of the performance there were five persons in our box the beautiful Miranda, and her husband, a celebrated English man of letters; a German professor of biology; a young Milanese gentleman, whom we called Edoardo; and myself.
Oh, how dear this wreath will be to me! and she retired, taking it with her. Sophia looked at the door through which the lady had disappeared, and bursting into tears, exclaimed: 'Oh my poor wreath! 'Sophia, Sophia, you are an angel, said Edoardo. 'Once more I owe you my life.
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