She passed into the hall,
and went to the bureau for some postage-stamps. As she stood there, some
one, unperceived, came up to her: it was Calabressa.
"Little daughter," said he, in a trembling voice.
She uttered a slight cry, and shrunk back.
"Little daughter," said he, holding out his hand.
But some strange instinct possessed her. She could not avoid touching
his hand--or the tips of his fingers, rather--for one brief second; then
she turned away from him with an involuntary shudder, and went back
through the hall, her head bent down. Calabressa stood looking after her
for a moment or two, then he turned and left the hotel.
He walked quickly: there were tears running down his face. He looked
neither to the right nor to the left; he was talking in a broken voice
to himself; he repeated again and again, "No, she shall not turn away
from me. She will be sorry for that soon. She will say she should not
have crushed the heart of her old friend Calabressa."
He walked out to Posilipo. Near the villa where he had formerly sought
the representatives of the Council he passed an old woman who was
selling fruit by the roadside.
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