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Chapter 3

           

           Histwogirls,theeldestfourteen,andtheothertwoyearsyounger,crouchedonthesandedfloor,oneachsideoftheSignoraTeresa,withtheirheadsontheirmother’slap,bothscared,buteachinherownway,thedark-hairedLindaindignantandangry,thefairGiselle,theyounger,bewilderedandresigned.ThePatronaremovedherarms,whichembracedherdaughters,foramomenttocrossherselfandwringherhandshurriedly.Shemoanedalittlelouder.

           “Oh!Gian’Battista,whyartthounothere?Oh!whyartthounothere?”

           Shewasnottheninvokingthesainthimself,butcallinguponNostromo,whosepatronhewas.AndGiorgio,motionlessonthechairbyherside,wouldbeprovokedbythesereproachfulanddistractedappeals.

           “Peace,woman!Where’sthesenseofit?There’shisduty,”hemurmuredinthedark;andshewouldretort,panting

           “Eh!Ihavenopatience.Duty!Whatofthewomanwhohasbeenlikeamothertohim?Ibentmykneetohimthismorning;don’tyougoout,Gian’Battistastopinthehouse,Battistinolookatthosetwolittleinnocentchildren!”

           Mrs.ViolawasanItalian,too,anativeofSpezzia,andthoughconsiderablyyoungerthanherhusband,alreadymiddle-aged.Shehadahandsomeface,whosecomplexionhadturnedyellowbecausetheclimateofSulacodidnotsuitheratall.Hervoicewasarichcontralto.

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