‘Murder is serious business, Gianfrancesco. ” “She can barely move! You took her limbs!” “You provided her with new ones, my dear. Ah! but you can’t imagine what you are to me and what you mean to me! I suppose there is something mystical and wonderful about all women. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. I thought one had only to take it by the throat. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea.
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