The sun, veiled by
fleecy cloudlets, shed a milky light over the scene, the trees rustled
fitfully, the thrush sang on invisible.
'Play!'
Rutolo charged his adversary with a double derobe. Sperelli parried and
returned, giving way a step. Rutolo followed up furiously with a rush of
rapid thrusts, nearly all in the low line, without uttering the usual
cries. Sperelli, nothing daunted by this onslaught, and wishing to avoid
an actual hand-to-hand fight, parried vigorously, and returned with such
directness that he might, had he so wished, have run his adversary
through the body each time. Rutolo's leg was bleeding near the groin.
'Halt!' cried Santa Margherita the moment he perceived it.
But in the same instant Sperelli, parrying low quarte and not
encountering his adversary's blade, received a thrust full in the
breast. He fell back into Barbarisi's arms and fainted.
'Wound penetrating the thorax through the fourth intercostal space on
the right side with superficial wound of the lung,' pronounced the
bull-necked surgeon, after his examination in the room to which they had
conveyed the wounded man.
BOOK II
CHAPTER I
Convalescence is a purification, a new birth. Never is life so sweet as
after the pangs of physical suffering, and never is the human soul so
inclined towards purity and faith as after having had a glimpse into the
abyss of death.
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