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"O my Lord!" she said, in the negrofied phrase natural to her latitude, "I wish it was no sin to wish him dead." "Tell me, my friend," said Reybold, "can I do nothing to assist you both? Let me understand you. Accept my sympathy and confidence. Where is Uriel's father? What is this mystery?" She did not answer. "It is for no idle curiosity that I ask," he continued.
'It's only a glorified stone cattle-byre, and an intensified stone Kaffir hut, Spenser commented. 'It's not even built the old Mabgwe way. These are only blocks of granite; a few of them broken, but not one of them dressed. And there's lots of mud to eke them out. 'Yet there's hope in the thing. It's not an artistic dead-end like Saint Uriel's, I pleaded.
"O my Lord!" she said, in the negrofied phrase natural to her latitude, "I wish it was no sin to wish him dead." "Tell me, my friend," said Reybold, "can I do nothing to assist you both? Let me understand you. Accept my sympathy and confidence. Where is Uriel's father? What is this mystery?" She did not answer. "It is for no idle curiosity that I ask," he continued.
"Yo'n be sorry when it's too late," said Hal. "Tush!" cried Demdike, "my only regret will be that Uriel's slaughter is paid for by such a worthless life as thine." "Then whoy tak it?" demanded Hal. "'Specially whon yo'n lose your chilt by doing so." "My child!" exclaimed Demdike, surprised. "How mean you, sirrah?"
Uriel's face grew grim: the puckers in his brow that her fingers had touched showed once more as terrible lines of suffering; his teeth were clenched. The old look of the hunted man came back. He took out her first note, which he kept nearest his heart, and re-read it slowly "Why ruin thy life for a mere abstraction? Canst thou not make peace?" A mere abstraction! Ah!
And when his beloved brother was married to the daughter of Manasseh, the millionaire and the president of the India Company which in that wonderful year paid its shareholders a dividend of seventy-five in the hundred some of the wedding-guests averred that they had caught a glimpse of Uriel's dark, yearning face amid the motley crowd assembled outside the synagogue to watch the arrival of Joseph Acosta and his beautiful bride; and there were those who said that Uriel's hands were raised as in blessing.
He denied immortality, insinuated the horrified Da Silva, in his elegant Portuguese treatise, Tradado da Immortalide, probably basing his knowledge of Uriel's "bestial and injurious opinions" on the confused reports of the heretic's brother, but refraining from mentioning his forbidden name.
Through the soft mist of delicious tears he gazed at the kindly furrowed face of the now hoary-headed physician, and clasped his great warm hand, holding it tight, forgetting to drop it, as though it were drawing him back to life and love and fellowship. The first few words made it clear that Dom Diego had not heard of Uriel's excommunication.
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