"It is your fault. It is you who have killed him."
"Nay, madam; I had called here for my money, and I had a right to do so.
It has been owing for a long time."
"No; you have killed him."
"Indeed, I wished him well. I was willing to forgive the debt if he
would let me take the child."
A horrid look of agony passed over Gregorio's face, but he remained
silent and motionless. The watchers saw that he understood and that a
tempest of wrath and pain surged within the lifeless body. They
stooped down and carried him downstairs and across the road to the
Penny-farthing Shop. The Jew's touch burned Gregorio like hot embers,
but he could not shake himself free. When he was laid on a bed in a
room above the bar, through the floor of which rose discordant sounds of
revelry, Amos left them. Madam Marx flung herself on the bed beside him
and wept.
Two days later Gregorio sat, at sunset, by Madam Marx's side, on the
threshold of the cafe. He had recovered speech and use of limbs. With
wrathful eloquence he had told his companion the history of the terrible
night, and now sat weaving plots in his maddened brain.
Pages:
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226