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In vain did Marcello struggle violently to free himself from the crushing pressure of the pirate's fingers. Although a very powerful man, and in the full vigour of his strength, the disadvantage at which he had been taken prevented his being a match for the old Uzcoque, whose sinews were braced by a long life of hardship.
That certainly cannot be done. Why do you wish to be alone with her? You can speak before me." "It will not be so easy, sir. I will come at another time." "No," Marcello answered, not liking his manner. "You will say what you have to say now, or you will say nothing, for you will not come at another time. The lady will not let you in, if you come again. Now speak."
"I am not sure what you would do if you were told it suddenly. Are your nerves pretty good? You used to be a delicate boy, though I confess that you look much stronger now." "You need not fear for my nerves," Marcello answered with a short laugh. "If they are sound after what I have been through in the last two years they will stand anything!" "Yes.
He takes an extraordinary interest in him for some reason or other." "What has he found out?" asked Marcello. "Enough to hang him, if people could be hanged in Italy," Aurora answered. "I should have thought Folco too clever to do anything really against the law," said Marcello, who did not seem much surprised at what she said. "The Professor believes that it was he that tried to kill you."
Regina had arrived in Paris with one box of modest dimensions; she left with four more, of a size that made the railway porters stagger. One day Marcello brought home a string of pearls in his pocket, and tried to fasten it round her throat; but she would not let him do it. She was angry. "Keep those things for your wife!" she said, with flashing eyes and standing back from him.
Marcello Consalvi had never been cowardly, or even timid; he had only been weak in will as in body, an easy prey to the man who had tried to ruin him, body and soul, in the hope of sending him to his grave. "I really cannot understand you, my dear boy," Corbario said very sweetly. "You used to be so gentle! But now you fly into a passion for the merest thing."
"You may think what you please," Marcello answered, leaning back in his deep leathern chair and taking up a book. "I am not going to argue with you." "Insufferable puppy," growled Folco, almost under his teeth; but Marcello heard. He rose instantly and faced the elder man without the slightest fear or hesitation.
I should like to be good, of course, but I like still better to be with you. So it is." "You are better than the priest knows," said Marcello thoughtfully, "and I am worse." "It is not true. But if I had a letter from you, I would not take it to the priest to read for me. He would be angry, and tear it up, and send me away.
He knew that he was called Marcello, but the rest was gone; he knew that a beautiful creature had taken care of him, and that her name was Regina. How long? How many days and nights had he lain in the attic, hot by day and cold at night? He could not guess, and it tired him to try.
He scarcely understood what she meant, and his expression did not change. "You could not do anything that was not right," he answered. Perhaps such a being as Marcello would be an impossibility anywhere but in Italy. Modern life tears privacy to tatters, and privacy is the veil of the temple of home, within which every extreme of human development is possible, good and bad.
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