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Sturm pondered this before pressing his point again. "Karslake found the fellow for you," he suggested at length. "True." "And Karslake " "Has been guilty of nothing more treacherous than falling in love with Sofia." "Your daughter, Excellency!" "The young woman seems content to call herself that.... Can't say I blame Karslake." "But do you forgive him?" "Ah, that is another matter.
I felt this no decay, because new powers Rose as old feelings left wit, mockery, Light-heartedness; for I had oft been sad, Mistrusting my resolves, but now I cast Hope joyously away; I laughed and said "No more of this!" It is difficult to believe that Browning is wholly dramatic here; we seem to discover something of that period of Sturm und Drang, when his mood grew restless and aggressive.
I could see the long array of lighted windows where the Duke would presently be dining with Michael Texel, High Councillor Gerard von Sturm, and most of his other intimates. There, beneath, were the stables of the Black Riders, and before them men were constantly passing and repassing with buckets and soldier gear. I wondered if the Duke had news of the approach of the enemy.
They seemed to have grown narrower and brighter with desire. He did not speak until they were in the cab. Then he turned to Wrayson. "I say," he exclaimed, "what was her name?" Wrayson smiled. "The Baroness de Sturm," he answered. "Baroness! Real Baroness! All O.K., I suppose?" "Without a doubt," Wrayson answered. "And Morris knew her she wrote letters to him," he continued, "a woman like that."
At five of the clock I lifted the great wolf's-head knocker of shining brass which frowned above the door of Master Gerard von Sturm in the port of the Weiss Thor. Hardly had I let it fall again when a small wicket, apparently about two feet above my head, opened, and a huge round head with enormous ears at either side peeped out.
"It was in answering Robert Browning;" she wrote, "that my mind refused to bring forward argument, turned recreant, and sided with the enemy." Something of this period of Browning's Sturm und Drang can be divined through the ideas and imagery of Pauline.
"Oh, most unfortunate about him frightfully sorry, but it really couldn't be helped, if he hadn't fought back we wouldn't have had to shoot him. You see, the old devil murdered Sturm to-night, for some reason I daresay you understand better than I: we found a paper on the beggar, written in Chinese, apparently an order for his assassination signed by you. Half a mo': I'll read it to you ..."
"Go within," he said; "don quickly your saint's-day dress, and betake yourself down to the house of Master Gerard von Sturm, the city chamberlain, and tell him all that he asks of you readily and truly." "But, father," said I, "suppose he asks of me that which might condemn one who has trusted me, what am I to say?" "Tut, boy," said my father, impatiently, "you mean young Michael Texel.
In a dry voice Victor commented: "Precisely." "Omelettes," Sturm interjected, assertively, "are not made without breaking eggs." "And all rivers, no doubt, flow to the sea? What a lot you know, Herr Sturm! Is it the Portfolio of the Minister of Education you've picked out for your very own, after the explosion comes off if it's a fair question?"
"Have you at all thought of the land or the lord to whom you would transfer your allegiance?" said Gerard von Sturm, carelessly rapping with his fingers on the bare white of the skull before him. "I have not," I replied as easily. He looked down a moment, and drew his black robe thoughtfully over his knee as if turning the matter over in his mind.
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