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Updated: June 1, 2025
Oh, Sandra! it would be pleasant to me if we might both be buried for seven days, and have one long howl of weakness together. A little bite of satisfaction makes me so tired. I believe there's something very bad for us in our always being at war, and never, never gaining ground. Just one spark of triumph intoxicates us. Look at all those people pouring out again.
It was strange. For they were English people come together in Athens on a May evening. Jacob, helping himself to this and that, answered intelligently, yet with a ring in his voice. The Williamses were going to Constantinople early next morning, they said. "Before you are up," said Sandra. They would leave Jacob alone, then.
Then she looked up, and said, "Have you felt this love for me very long?" at which the puny flame, scarce visible, sprang up, and warmed to a great heat. "My own Emilia! Sandra! listen to me: promise me not to seek this interview." "Will you always love me as much?" Emilia bargained. "Yes, yes; I never vary. It is my love for you that begs you."
"You replied that singing is a poor thing in time of war, and I agree with you. We might serve as hospital nurses." "Why do we not determine?" "We are only considering possibilities." "Consider the impossibility of our remaining quiet." "Fire that goes to flame is a waste of heat, my Sandra." The signora, however, was not so discreet as her speech. On all sides there was uproar and movement.
All is well with you? Will they have to put paint on her soft cheeks to-morrow? Little, if they hold the colour as full as now? My Sandra! amica! should I have been jealous if Giacomo had known you? On my soul, I cannot guess! But, you love what he loved. He seems to live for me when they are talking of Italy, and you send your eyes forward as if you saw the country free.
This conviction makes him a stalwart enemy of sentimentalism, which is so fiercely satirized in "Sandra Belloni" in the persons of the Pole family. His works abound in passages in which this view is displayed, flashed before the reader in diamond-like epigram and aphorism. Not that he despises the emotions: those who know him thoroughly will recognize the absurdity of such a charge.
He had loved and worked and known honor and respect on Earth; it held the grave of his wife, and the fresh, warm young love of his wife reincarnate, his daughter Sandra. He was at last going home to Earth from his exile on this desolate, raw frontier post.
The Earth-clock on the wall ticked on; seconds built minutes, and the minutes passed. The asteroid was only ten miles astern. "Eliot," said Carse quietly, "get me one of your infra-red glasses." He took over the controls again. Carefully he varied the forward repulsion and sent current to the side gravity-plates, and slowly the Sandra answered by rotating, longitudinally, reversing her position.
I am informed that she worshipped the poor boy, and has been like a trapped she-wolf since she did it. In some way she associated our darling with Rinaldo's death, like the brute she is. The ostensible ground for her futile bit of devilishness was that she fancied Sandra to have betrayed Barto Rizzo, her husband, into the hands of the polizia.
We have a sort of general armistice and everlasting strife of individuals Ah!" she clapped hands on her knees, "here comes your doctor; I could fancy I see a pointed light on his head. Men of science, my Sandra, are always the humanest." The chill air of wind preceding thunder was driving round the head of the vale, and Mr.
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