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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Where are you taking me, sir?" she said in English. "Sandra, will you be a good child? It is anywhere you please, if you will promise " "I will promise nothing." "Zen, I lock you up in Verona." In Verona!" "Sandra, will you promise to me?" "I will promise nothing." "Zen I lock you up in Verona. It is settled. No more of it. I come to say, we shall not reach a village. I am sorry.
"Not to Turin, not to London, Sandra Belloni!" he replied; "not to a place where you are wet all night long, to wheeze for ever after it. Go in." She entered the carriage quickly, to escape from staring officers, whose laughter rang in her ears and humbled her bitterly; she felt herself bringing dishonour on her lover. The carriage continued in the track of the Austrians.
"Where are the guns?" Mrs. Durrant looked too. Clara, thinking that her mother wanted her, came in; then went out again. "Oh!" cried Sandra, with a cordiality which she suddenly felt. And Evan added, "What luck!" The dinner which they gave him in the hotel which looks on to the Square of the Constitution was excellent. Plated baskets contained fresh rolls. There was real butter.
The doomed man met the gray eyes and their agony with a smile. "It's all right, old comrade," he said. "Just remember to destroy this hellish device, if you ever possibly can. My love to Sandra; and to her, and my dear ones on Earth, anything but the truth.... Farewell." Carse's fingernails bit each one into his palms. He hesitated; tried, but could not speak. "All right, Carse you may go."
What have you said or done that might cause them to suspect you? Speak, Sandra mia. It was difficult for Vittoria to speak upon the theme, which made her appear as a criminal replying to a charge. At last she said, 'English: I have no foreign friends but English. I remember nothing that I have done. Yes, I have said I thought I might tremble if I was led out to be shot.
And it was a character strangely open to feminine perceptions, while to masculine comprehension it remained a dead blank, done either in black or in white. Vittoria insisted on praising the king to Laura. "With all my heart," Laura said, "so long as he is true to Italy." "How, then, am I hypocritical?" "My Sandra, you are certainly perverse.
O my good and noble Sandra, you touch a chord which vibrates sadly in my heart, and you anticipate the unhappy confidence I was about to make. I feel a gloomy presentiment and in the hour of death presentiment is prophecy that the two sons of my nephew, Louis, who has been King of Hungary since his father died, and Andre, whom I desired to make King of Naples, will prove the scourge of my family.
Neither does this mean, as with Henry James, the disappearance of plot: a healthy objectivity of narrative framework is preserved; if anything the earlier books "Feverel," "Evan Harrington," "Rhoda Fleming" and the duo "Sandra Belloni" and "Vittoria" have more of story interest than the later novels.
Sandra smiled at him. And, as he went to the window and had nothing to say she added, in broken half-sentences: "Well, but how lovely wouldn't it be? The Acropolis, Evan or are you too tired?" At that Evan looked at them, or, since Jacob was staring ahead of him, at his wife, surlily, sullenly, yet with a kind of distress not that she would pity him.
'Pish! tush! Laura checked her. 'They flog women, they do not shoot them. They shoot men. 'That is our better fortune, said Ammiani. 'But, Sandra, my sister, Laura persisted now, in melodious coaxing tones. 'Can you not help us to guess? I am troubled: I am stung. It is for your sake I feel it so. Can't you imagine who did it, for instance? 'No, signora, I cannot, Vittoria replied.
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