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Chapter 4

           

           SignoraTeresafoundhervoice.

           “ItiswhatIsay.Youhavenoheartandyouhavenoconscience,Gian’Battista—”

           Theyheardhimwheelhishorseawayfromtheshutters.ThepartyheledwerebabblingexcitedlyinItalianandSpanish,incitingeachothertothepursuit.Heputhimselfattheirhead,crying,“Avanti!”

           “Hehasnotstoppedverylongwithus.Thereisnopraisefromstrangerstobegothere,”SignoraTeresasaidtragically.“Avanti!Yes!Thatisallhecaresfor.TobefirstsomewheresomehowtobefirstwiththeseEnglish.Theywillbeshowinghimtoeverybody.‘ThisisourNostromo!’”Shelaughedominously.“Whataname!Whatisthat?Nostromo?Hewouldtakeanamethatisproperlynowordfromthem.”

           MeantimeGiorgio,withtranquilmovements,hadbeenunfasteningthedoor;thefloodoflightfellonSignoraTeresa,withhertwogirlsgatheredtoherside,apicturesquewomaninaposeofmaternalexaltation.Behindherthewallwasdazzlinglywhite,andthecrudecoloursoftheGaribaldilithographpaledinthesunshine.

           OldViola,atthedoor,movedhisarmupwardsasifreferringallhisquick,fleetingthoughtstothepictureofhisoldchiefonthewall.

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