She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. He began to think of speeches, very firm, explicit speeches, he would make. Not MY affair. She heard it open, but as she felt unable to look round in a careless manner she pretended not to hear it. Certainly I would not murder monsieur le major, even that he has made a threat to beat me. With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door.
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