"Gemma, dear," he said after a moment; "are
you going to let that miserable business haunt
you all your life? We have all made mistakes
when we were seventeen."
"We have not all killed our dearest friend when
we were seventeen," she answered wearily; and,
leaning her arm on the stone balustrade of the
bridge, looked down into the river. Martini held
his tongue; he was almost afraid to speak to her
when this mood was on her.
"I never look down at water without remembering,"
she said, slowly raising her eyes to his;
then with a nervous little shiver: "Let us walk
on a bit, Cesare; it is chilly for standing."
They crossed the bridge in silence and walked
on along the river-side. After a few minutes she
spoke again.
"What a beautiful voice that man has! There
is something about it that I have never heard in
any other human voice. I believe it is the secret
of half his influence."
"It is a wonderful voice," Martini assented,
catching at a subject of conversation which might
lead her away from the dreadful memory called up
by the river, "and he is, apart from his voice,
about the finest preacher I have ever heard.
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