Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. I warned her not to say a word, for it would mean the death of everyone in the Palazzo, including you. Wild had escaped. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. He could imagine it even if he could not feel it. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact. He knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. It does not work, I still suffer madness. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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