She will
no doubt develop a saintly sort of affection for you, too."
I don't know that the prospect of becoming a favourite of Dona
Rita's peasant sister was very fascinating to me. If I went to
live very willingly at No. 10 it was because everything connected
with Dona Rita had for me a peculiar fascination. She had only
passed through the house once as far as I knew; but it was enough.
She was one of those beings that leave a trace. I am not
unreasonable--I mean for those that knew her. That is, I suppose,
because she was so unforgettable. Let us remember the tragedy of
Azzolati the ruthless, the ridiculous financier with a criminal
soul (or shall we say heart) and facile tears. No wonder, then,
that for me, who may flatter myself without undue vanity with being
much finer than that grotesque international intriguer, the mere
knowledge that Dona Rita had passed through the very rooms in which
I was going to live between the strenuous times of the sea-
expeditions, was enough to fill my inner being with a great
content. Her glance, her darkly brilliant blue glance, had run
over the walls of that room which most likely would be mine to
slumber in. Behind me, somewhere near the door, Therese, the
peasant sister, said in a funnily compassionate tone and in an
amazingly landlady-of-a-boarding-house spirit of false
persuasiveness:
"You will be very comfortable here, Senor.
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