Let
us go to South America, where you used to live."
The physical horror of association startled
him back into self-control; he unclasped her hands
from his neck and held them in a steady grasp.
"Zita! Try to understand what I am saying
to you. I do not love you; and if I did I would
not come away with you. I have my work in
Italy, and my comrades----"
"And someone else that you love better than
me!" she cried out fiercely. "Oh, I could kill
you! It is not your comrades you care about;
it's---- I know who it is!"
"Hush!" he said quietly. "You are excited
and imagining things that are not true."
"You suppose I am thinking of Signora Bolla?
I'm not so easily duped! You only talk politics
with her; you care no more for her than you do for
me. It's that Cardinal!"
The Gadfly started as if he had been shot.
"Cardinal?" he repeated mechanically.
"Cardinal Montanelli, that came here preaching
in the autumn. Do you think I didn't see your
face when his carriage passed? You were as white
as my pocket-handkerchief! Why, you're shaking
like a leaf now because I mentioned his name!"
He stood up.
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