Their own attempts were invariably well
organised and directed towards some definite end. They did not destroy
life for mere wanton cruelty, and their victims were marked out and
hunted down with an accurate aim.
It suddenly occurred to Emile that during the last few months he had
looked upon Barcelona with a changed vision. He had always seen her
beauties and hated them, as a man may hate the fair body of a despised
mistress, while he yet sees it fair. Now the thought that he might at
any time, and at a few days' notice, be forced to leave the place,
struck him with a feeling of blankness and desolation.
The sense of exile was almost gone, the nostalgia for his own land no
longer keen. Had he turned traitor to his own country, the country for
whose woes he was now suffering--?
There he had neither home, parents, friends nor lover. Here he
possessed at least interests.
A rustling sound behind him made him turn quickly. In the gloom he
could only see the outline of a white moving figure. He groped for the
matches, struck one and lit a candle.
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