Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 13, 2025
With that Denyven departed to apply to his bruises such herbs and simples as a long experience had taught him to be efficacious. He had gone only a few rods, however, when it occurred to him that there were probabilities of a stormy scene in the yard; so he turned on his tracks, and followed Richard Shackford. Torrini was a Neapolitan, who had come to the country seven or eight years before.
"He is not rich, but he's not poor; he would take her." "You would wish her sent to Naples?" "Yes." "If you do not pull through, she and the children shall go there." "Brigida!" called Torrini; then he said something rapidly in Italian to the woman, who buried her face in both hands, and did not reply. "She has no words to thank you.
This cost Richard ten good minutes. As he hurriedly turned into a cross-street on the left, he fancied that he heard his name called several times from somewhere in the darkness. A man came running towards him. It was Mr. Peters. "Can I say a word to you, Mr. Shackford?" "If it isn't a long one. I am rather pressed." "It is about Torrini, sir." "What of him?" "He's mighty bad, sir."
He was vainly trying to pass it over the first joint of the dead white finger, when the cast slipped from his hold and fell with a crash to the floor. Richard gave a shudder, and opened his eyes. Brigida was noiselessly approaching Torrini's bedside. Torrini still slept. It was broad day. Through the uncurtained window Richard saw the blue sky barred with crimson.
This reflection was precisely in Mr. Taggett's line. In absconding Durgin had not only secured his own personal safety, but had exonerated his accomplice. It was a desperate step to take, but it was a skillful one. "He had an accomplice?" repeated Mr. Taggett, after a moment. "Who was it?" "Torrini!" "The man who was hurt the other day?" "Yes." "You have grounds for your assertion?"
For years and years the Association has prevented this employer from training more than two apprentices annually. The result is, eighty hands find work, instead of a hundred and eighty. Now, that can't last." "It keeps wages fixed in Stillwater, sir." "It keeps out a hundred workmen. It sends away capital." "Torrini says, sir" "Steer clear of Torrini and what he says.
The woman, comprehending the glance which accompanied the words, though not the words themselves, nodded yes. "Here is Mr. Shackford come to see you, Torrini," Peters said. The man slowly unclosed his eyes; they were unnaturally brilliant and dilated, and seemed to absorb the rest of his features. "I didn't want him." "Let by-gones be by-gones, Torrini," said Richard, approaching the bedside.
It was two o'clock; Richard sat with his head bent forward, in a drowse. "Now the cousin is dead, you are as rich as a prince, are you not?" inquired Torrini, who had lain for the last half hour with his eyes wide open in the moonlight. Richard straightened himself with a jerk. "Torrini, I positively forbid you to talk any more!" "I remember you said that one day, somewhere. Where was it?
To him Torrini was the crystallization of Italy, or so much of that Italy as Richard had caught a glimpse of at Genoa. To the town-folks Torrini perhaps vaguely suggested hand-organs and eleemosynary pennies; but Richard never looked at the straight-limbed, handsome fellow without recalling the Phrygian-capped sailors of the Mediterranean.
Adopted his cousin, one time, but made the house so hot for him that the lad ran off to sea, and since then had had nothing to do with the old bilk. Indeed! What sort of fellow was young Shackford? Mr. Wollaston could not say of his own knowledge; thought him a plucky chap; he had put a big Italian named Torrini out of the yard, one day, for talking back. Who was Torrini?
Word Of The Day
Others Looking