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Well, she showed feeling for young Cressett, and her hit at me was an answer. It struck me on the mouth. But she's an eternal anxiety. A man she respects! A man to govern her! Fleetwood hurried his paces. 'I couldn't have allowed poor Ambrose. Besides, he had not a chance never had in anything. It wants a head, wants the man who can say no to her. "The Reveller's Aurora," you called her.
In fact, as one of the maskers passed Rienzi, he whispered, "Beware, a Colonna is among the masks! beneath the reveller's domino has often lurked the assassin's dagger. Yonder stands your foe mark him!" These words were the first sharp and thrilling intimation of the perils into which he had rushed, that the Tribune-Senator had received since his return.
When will Christ descend to protect his own? 'Can human atrocity go farther said another: 'to sentence an innocent man to the same arena as a murderer! But let us not despair; the thunder of Sinai may yet be heard, and the Lord preserve his saint. "The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God." At that moment out broke again, from the illumined palace, the burden of the reveller's song:
Its situation, crowning the hill with its walls and towers, its fertile 'fat valley, the flagrant immorality and drunkenness of its inhabitants, and its final ruin, are all presented in the highly imaginative picture of its fall as being like the trampling under foot of a garland on a reveller's head, the roses of which fade and droop amid the fumes of the banqueting hall, and are then flung out on the highway.
Well, she showed feeling for young Cressett, and her hit at me was an answer. It struck me on the mouth. But she's an eternal anxiety. A man she respects! A man to govern her! Fleetwood hurried his paces. 'I couldn't have allowed poor Ambrose. Besides, he had not a chance never had in anything. It wants a head, wants the man who can say no to her. "The Reveller's Aurora," you called her.
He now came frequently of an evening, to practise a duet for flutes with Victor; a Mercadante, honeyed and flowing; too honeyed to suit a style that, as Fenellan characterized it to Nataly, went through the music somewhat like an inquisitive tourist in a foreign town, conscientious to get to the end of the work of pleasure; until the notes had become familiar, when it rather resembled a constable's walk along the midnight streets into collision with a garlanded roysterer; and the man of order and the man of passion, true to the measure though they were, seeming to dissent, almost to wrangle, in their different ways of winding out the melody, on to the last movement; which was plainly a question between home to the strayed reveller's quarters or off to the lockup.
It was the gay boulevardier whom I had seen on the Jetée Promenade. "Why do you warn me?" I inquired, surprised at the reveller's grave face, so different from what it had been when he had shaken his bells and sung the merry chorus of "La Noire." "Because you're acting the fool, Ewart," Regnier replied. "I'm merely taking them about on the car."
He now came frequently of an evening, to practise a duet for flutes with Victor; a Mercadante, honeyed and flowing; too honeyed to suit a style that, as Fenellan characterized it to Nataly, went through the music somewhat like an inquisitive tourist in a foreign town, conscientious to get to the end of the work of pleasure; until the notes had become familiar, when it rather resembled a constable's walk along the midnight streets into collision with a garlanded roysterer; and the man of order and the man of passion, true to the measure though they were, seeming to dissent, almost to wrangle, in their different ways of winding out the melody, on to the last movement; which was plainly a question between home to the strayed reveller's quarters or off to the lockup.
These, then, are the elements, and on them all is stamped the signature of perpetuity. The victor's wreath is tossed on the ashen heap, the reveller's flowers droop as he sits in the heat of the banqueting-hall; the bride's myrtle blossom fades though she lay it away in a safe place. The crown of life is incorruptible. It is twined of amaranth, ever blossoming into new beauty and never fading.
Rather earlier in the afternoon of that day, Simeon Fenellan, thinking of the many things which are nothing, and so melancholy for lack of amusements properly to follow Old Veuve, that he could ask himself whether he had not done a deed of night, to be blinking at his fellow-men like an owl all mad for the reveller's hoots and flights and mice and moony roundels behind his hypocritical judex air of moping composure, chanced on Mr.
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