"
Marcone knocked the ashes savagely from his
pipe.
"Well. anyhow, that's the end of it; we can't
do anything for him now, poor fellow."
"Poor fellow!" Martini echoed, under his
breath. He was beginning to realise that to him,
too, the world would look empty and dismal without
the Gadfly.
"What does she think?" the smuggler asked,
glancing towards the other end of the room, where
Gemma sat alone, her hands lying idly in her lap,
her eyes looking straight before her into blank
nothingness.
"I have not asked her; she has not spoken since
I brought her the news. We had best not disturb
her just yet."
She did not appear to be conscious of their presence,
but they both spoke with lowered voices, as though
they were looking at a corpse. After a dreary little
pause, Marcone rose and put away his pipe.
"I will come back this evening," he said; but
Martini stopped him with a gesture.
"Don't go yet; I want to speak to you." He
dropped his voice still lower and continued in
almost a whisper:
"Do you believe there is really no hope?"
"I don't see what hope there can be now.
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