The evenings were dulcet and soft. "If any one's to blame, it's me. “How ridiculous! Fancy you with all that money! For heaven’s sake, though, do not go about playing the Don Quixote like this. I had not the time to formulate the decoctions that would have saved him— they take weeks to create and must come from your own blood! You were perilously close to death, and had I not watched you constantly for the week you were unconscious they would have buried you alive! Gianfrancesco was ready to give up after two days, 172 ready to throw you in the plague cart! Of course he had no use for you after bearing witness to the loss of your womanly organs. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it. ’ ‘But he gives them to me.
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