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Updated: May 16, 2025
"What ridiculous whims!" Signer Odoardo exclaims, throwing his head back against the sofa cushions. Signor Odoardo is unjust, and, what is worse, he does not believe what he is saying. He knows that this is no whim of Doretta's. He knows it better than the child herself, who would probably find it difficult to explain what she is undergoing.
The first-class compartment in which Signor Odoardo and his daughter find themselves is bitterly cold, in spite of foot-warmers, but Doretta finds the temperature delicious, and, if she dared, would open the windows for the pleasure of looking out. "Are you happy, Doretta?" "Oh, SO happy!"
Signor Odoardo paces up and down the room, with bent head and hands thrust in his pockets. He is disturbed, profoundly disturbed. He feels that he has reached a crisis in his life; that in a few days, perhaps in a few hours, his future will be decided. Is he seriously in love with Signora Evelina? How long has he known her?
And as to that, muses the average-adjuster, have I ever positively made up my mind to remain single, and if I have, who is to prevent my changing it? And so it comes to pass that when, after an absence of three months, Signor Odoardo returns home with Doretta, he receives notice of the approaching marriage of Signora Evelina Chiocci, widow Ramboldi, with Signor Archimede Fagiuolo.
Virginia is converted into a Countess Galotti, Virginius into Count Odoardo, an Italian prince takes the place of Appius Claudius, and a chamberlain that of the unblushing minister of his lusts, &c.
Signor Odoardo, who is not an ill- mannered boor, yields to the temptation of opening the window for a moment. "Bravo, Signora Evelina! I see you are not afraid of the snow." "Oh, Signor Odoardo, what fiendish weather!...But, if I am not mistaken, that is Doretta with you...How do you do, Doretta?" "Doretta, come here and say how do you do to the lady." "No, no let her be, let her be!
I was arrested on the 13th of that month in the preceding year. Other recollections of the same period, also pained me. That day two years, a highly valued and excellent man whom I truly honoured, was drowned in the Ticino. Three years before, a young person, Odoardo Briche, whom I loved as if he had been my own son, had accidentally killed himself with a musket.
She is sitting there, close to the window, and it snows so lightly now that her wonderful profile is outlined as clearly as possible against the pane. Good heavens, how beautiful she is! Signer Odoardo walks up and down the room, in the worst of humors. He feels that it is wrong not to go and see the fascinating widow, and that to go and see her would be still more wrong.
Annibale was invited to Rome by the Cardinal Odoardo Farnese, to decorate the great hall of his palace in the Piazza Farnese, with scenes from the heathen mythology, for which work he received a monthly salary of ten scudi, about two guineas, with maintenance for himself and two servants, and a farther gift of five hundred scudi.
He turned like a flash and put his face against the metal, with his arms outspread and his legs drawn up. And San Pantaleone was lost. The Translation by Edith Wharton. The thermometer marks barely one degree above freezing, the sky is covered with ominous white clouds, the air is harsh and piercing; what can induce Signor Odoardo, at nine o'clock on such a morning, to stand in his study window?
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