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"I can't think in large sections and masses of people," Henry replied. "Women are so different one from another. So are men. That's all I can see, when people talk of the sexes." "Macchè! You don't say!" said Miss Longfellow, looking at him inquiringly. "Most people always think in large masses of people. They find it easier, more convenient, more picturesque." "It is indeed so," Henry admitted.
And that is how Nino came to live with us. That old woman has no principles of economy, and she likes children. "What does a little creature like that eat?" said she. "A bit of bread, a little soup macchè! You will never notice it, I tell you. And the poor thing has been living on charity. Just imagine whether you are not quite as able to feed him as Gigi is!" So she persuaded me.
One must admit that there is nobody equal to the Church, and next to her a monarchy, when it comes to inventing pretty things. That is why it is said, and very well said, that there is no salvation outside of the Church." "You are a pagan." "And I believe you are one, too." "Macche!" "What comes after all those Privy Cape-and-Sword Chamberlains, my dear Abbe?"
"There is not a girl in Naples as beautiful as Peppina. Mother of " But the game was too loathsome with such a player. "Beautiful! Macche!" He laughed, made a gesture of pulling out a knife and smashing his face with it. "Beautiful! Per Dio!" The coquetry, the cunning, dropped out of the long, pale face. "The Signore knows?" "Ma si! All Naples knows." The old woman's face became terrible.
He is a man of great influence, of great talent." "Influence, I believe; talent, I doubt," said Caesar. "Oh, no, no! He is an intelligent man." "But I have heard that his Theological Commentaries is absolutely absurd." "No, no." "A crude, banal book, full of stupidities...." "Macche!" exclaimed the indignant Preciozi, neglecting the culinary conflict he was engaged in. "All right.
He would come along dragging his feet, would bow, make a joke, stand mournful; and this fluency of expression, and these gesticulations, gave him a manner halfway between woman and child. When he grew petulant, especially, he seemed like a woman. "Macche!" he would say continually, with an acrid voice and the disgusted air of an hysterical dame.
My dear Count, your cousin is a charming girl, and it is my chief concern and duty to arrange a suitable marriage for her. Let me have the very great satisfaction of arranging a marriage between her and you." Susanna leaned back, and laughed. But the Commendatore frowned at her with genuine anger. "Macche!" he cried. "What fool's talk is this? What farce are you preparing?"
There was a dulness of fatalism in his voice. Artois did not reproach him. "Did you lose them when the balloon went up?" he asked. "Macche! It was not the balloon!" Gaspare said, fiercely. "What was it?" Artois felt suddenly that Gaspare had some perfect excuse for his inattention. "Some one spoke to me. When I when I had finished the Signorina and that Signore were gone." "Some one spoke to you.
Gaspare was exclaiming, with indignant gestures of protest to the elderly couple who were in charge of the aprons; "it is not worth two soldi! It is not fit to be thrown to the pigs, and you ask me " "Gaspare!" "Two lire Madonna! Sangue di San Pancrazio, they ask me two lire! Macchè!" He took up another apron. "Gaspare!" "One lira fifty?
Salvatore returned his vicious glance and said something in dialect which Maurice did not understand. Gaspare's face flushed, and he was about to burst into an angry reply when Maurice touched his arm. "Come along, Gaspare!" As they got up, he whispered: "Remember what I said about to-day!" "Macchè " Maurice closed his fingers tightly on Gaspare's arm. "Gaspare, you must remember!
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