THE NINTH MAN
and she was well pleased that she held death in her hand.
I had come into the hall with sedate and slow step, thinking to find no one there. And slowly I traversed its long length, but while I was in that room scarcely did my breath come to me.
It seemed to me that in crossing that silent room I lived more than the span of years that I had reached, and I pushed through the heavy door; and although I walked so slowly, as though absorbed in my own thoughts, panic was at my heels. I wanted to run from this sight: my master standing there in the insolent pride of his strength, watching my lady, who played so lovingly with the thought of death that she forgot life. As I got through the door it was as though I ran into the arms of my own chattering fright. In the corridor without was Father Giorgio.
"Have you seen, Matteo? Have you seen?" he cried at me. His fat cheeks were limp and gray, and it was the first time I had seen he was old.
"Oh, my poor Bartolommeo!" he cried. "My poor lady! Have you suffered as
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