With the son she was strangely intimate. From the mother she felt
separated by a gulf.
And that fear of hers?
She looked again round the room. Had that fear increased or
diminished? Her eyes fell on Maria Addolorata, then on the /Fattura
della morte/. She did not know why, but she was moved to speak about
it.
"You have nice rooms here," she said.
"Si, Signora."
Maddalena had rather a harsh voice. She spoke politely, but
inexpressively.
"What a curious thing that is on the wall!"
"Signora?"
"It's a lemon, isn't it? With nails stuck through it?"
Maddalena's broad face grew a dusky red.
"That is nothing, Signora!" she said, hastily.
She looked greatly disturbed, suddenly went over to the bed, unhooked
the string from the nail, and put the death-charm into her pocket. As
she came back she looked at Hermione with defiance in her eyes.
The gulf between them had widened.
From the kitchen came the persistent sound of whispering voices. The
green parrot turned sideways on the board beyond the pile of rolled-up
mattresses, and looked, with one round eye, steadfastly at Hermione.
Pages:
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841