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Updated: June 4, 2025
I have been watching our good friend, your lawyer's wife, distracted over the over the balourdise of her husband as a dancer: he dances like a bootmaker's sign, if you can imagine that, and I dare not approach them till her very natural indignation has simmered down." The Chamberlain looked across, the hall distastefully and found Mrs. Petullo's eyes on him.
"Quite so, ma'am," said he, "but there was something in particular you had to tell me. Mungo, as I mentioned, is waiting me at the quay, and time presses, for we have much to do before we leave next week." A look of relief came to Mrs. Petullo's face. "Next week!" she cried. "Oh, then, that goes far to set my mind at ease." Some colour came to her cheeks; she trifled with a handkerchief.
When Petullo's work was done of an evening it was his practice to sit with his wife in their huge and draughty parlour, practising the good husband and the domestic virtues in an upright zealous manner, such as one may read of in the books. A noble thing to do, but what's the good of it when hearts are miles apart and the practitioner is a man of rags?
At the hour of midnight his horse was stabled, and he himself was whistling in the rear of Petullo's house, a signal the woman there had thought never to hear again. She responded in a joyful whisper from a window, and came down a few minutes later with her head in a capuchin hood. "Oh, Sim! dear, is it you indeed? I could hardly believe my ears."
"But she looked ill from the first," and once more he inwardly cursed his fate that constantly embroiled him in such affairs. Ten minutes later he and the Count were told the lady had come round, and with expressions of deep sympathy they left Petullo's dwelling. There was a silence between the two for a little after they came out from Petullo's distracted household.
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