Capitolo 73
the numbered pages. Having finally systematized them in order, he tilted him
back again on his/her chair, softly holding the papers in his/her hand. There
it was not anything of the _poseur_ in Callender; his/her childish simplicity of
way ran over him with a touching dignity even if he was possessed
it won, where another men would have faced more bravely the life, neither
you/he/she has held him completely unworthy because of a narrow grave that closed
forever from the light a woman that had never loved him.
"I think that it would appreciate to read this", he said for a long time. "And I am able
likes to have her/it. To her, you/he/she cannot care. I wanted to marry me her,
toward the end, so I could take he/she takes care of me of her.--You were poor you,
knows--but she would not consent. You left me this, without any communication.
I knew so well her, she thought that you/he/she would have been easier for me to forget
his/her; but I won't now forget never her."
He gave me the small package of leaves whose raw edges showed that
they had hurriedly been cut by a binding, and then he fell again in
his/her old lethargic attitude. I am not an imaginative man but a faint
odor from the paper brought as a shine to my mind the bright one,
does rebellious, radiant with color and the life, that I had seen last through
a sea of white shoulders and coats of black to a reception some weeks
before I went to South America. The writing was the hasty one, illegible
an author's hand. I severely thought that I had probably happened on a
very it weakened and it Americanized Marie Bashkirtseff, for although I only had
is home some weeks, it goes without saying that I had read a part to
the less than the dairy of the young Russian to bad result. Still in the presence of the
face of sorry, delineated against the dark leather chair-back me,
felt a torment of the shame to a thought that confines with on lightness. There was indeed
a similarity: both they were the integral files of staid hearts
mercilessly naked; both they were instinct with life: in every line it was able