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And he held out his hand with the notes. "Salvatore is birbante!" said Gaspare, sullenly. "He did not win it fairly. I saw him " "Never mind, Gaspare!" said Maurice. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "To-morrow I'll give you the same," he whispered. "And now," he added, aloud, "let's go to bed. I've been rowing Maddalena round the island and I'm tired. I shall sleep like a top."
Thus having rebuked her too zealous champion Glory explained to Miss Bonnicastle that "they couldn't be more'n twenty-five good bags left. They belongs to Antonio Salvatore, the peanut man. I was goin' to buy needles an' thread with part, needin' needles most, but no matter. Better luck next time. Do you really want a bag, lady?"
You, little elf, sit down on the stool and you, Salvatore, shall give me the flowers. What does this mean? I really believe the scamp has been putting perfumed oil on his curly head. In honor of me, Salvatore? Thank you! We shall need the hoops later. First we'll make bouquets, and then bind them with the leaves to the wood. Sing me a song while we are working, Maria. The first one!
He looked like a magnificent bull, with his short, strong brown neck, and low-growing hair that seemed to have been freshly crimped. Gaspare stood close to Artois, as if he felt that they were allies and must keep together. Salvatore was a few paces off. Artois glanced at him now with a carefully concealed curiosity. Instantly the fisherman said: "Povero signorino! Povero signorino!
"In loving passionately something that was utterly worthy to be loved." Artois was silent. He knew Hermione's mistake. He knew what had never been told him: that Maurice had been false to her for the love of the peasant girl Maddalena. He knew that Maurice had been done to death by the betrayed girl's father, Salvatore. And Gaspare knew these things, too.
"Like!" cried Salvatore, pouring out another glass of wine and spitting on the discolored floor, over which hens were running; "what is any cristiana like?" And he repeated the contadino's proverb: "'La mugghieri è comu la gatta: si l'accarizzi, idda ti gratta!" "Perhaps the Inglese will get scratched to-night," said the first fisherman. "I don't mind," rejoined Salvatore.
Urns, on the wall on either side of the doorways and in the rotunda, designed by William G. Merchant. Suggested by urns in the Vatican, Rome. Maiden of the Roman Campagna, by Albin Polasek. A Fawn's Toilet, by Attilio Piccirilli. Apollo, by Haig Patigian. The Scalp, by Edward Berge. Primitive Man, by Olga Popoff Muller. Youth, by Victor D. Salvatore. Soldier of Marathon, by Paul Noquet.
Maurice said nothing, but took her hand and looked at her. Salvatore was fastening up the boat and putting the oars into their places, and getting his jacket and hat. What a transformation it was, making an almost new Maddalena! This festival dress was really quite wonderful.
The front door opened into the shady arch-way, and the window balconies were filled with flowering plants in pots. Her name was Camilla. Her father Monsieur Salvatore Urso played the flute in the orchestra at the theatre, or opera house, and on Sundays played the organ at the Church of the Holy Cross that stood facing a little square not far from the river.
She seemed to feel the heat of noon in summer. Gaspare was there, too. She saw his sullen face. She saw him looking ugly. She heard him say: "Salvatore and Maddalena, Signora." Why had he said that? In answer to what question? And then, in a flash, she remembered everything. It was she who had spoken first. She had asked him who lived in the House of the Sirens. "Salvatore and Maddalena."
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