Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 15, 2025
Settimia wrote that the dear patient had looked better the very day after arriving; that the admirable companion was making him drink milk and go to bed at ten o'clock; that the two spent most of the day in the pine-woods, and that Marcello already talked of an excursion up the glacier and of climbing some of the smaller peaks.
Somehow Regina guessed that a bribe would not have much effect on the woman. Marcello had wished to send her away long ago, but Regina had persuaded him to let her stay. It was part of her hatred of Corbario to accumulate proofs against him, and they were not lacking in the letters he wrote to Settimia.
She did not love Folco Corbario, and she came of a race that could hate, for it was the race of the Roman hill peasants. So he left her quickly and went on. But when he was gone, Regina sat quite still for some time, looking at the fire. Settimia was safe in her own room, and was probably asleep.
It was not a look of cruelty, nor of fierce anticipated satisfaction in what she meant to do; it was simply cold and relentless, and Settimia gazed with terror on the splendid marble profile, so fearfully distinct against the dark wall in the bright light of the lamp.
He had bidden her find out from Settimia where Corbario was, if the woman knew it; he had told her to find out at any cost, and had put a great deal of emphasis on the last words. In answer to the one question she asked, he told her that Corbario was a murderer, and was trying to escape. He had not time to explain more fully, but he knew that he could count on her.
"Settimia?" repeated the young girl, as she put the hat on and thrust a long pin through it. "Who is Settimia?" "Our I mean my maid," Regina explained. "Thank you. You are too good!" "It is an uncommon name," Aurora said, looking critically at the hat. "But I think I have heard it before." "She is a wonderful woman. She knows French. She knows everything!"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking