"
In the distance she saw creatures with black hoods, such as
appear in dreams. The palace tower had lost the reflection of the
declining day, and joined itself to earth. How should she talk to
Mr. Emerson when he returned from the shadowy square? Again the
thought occurred to her, "Oh, what have I done?"--the thought
that she, as well as the dying man, had crossed some spiritual
boundary.
He returned, and she talked of the murder. Oddly enough, it was
an easy topic. She spoke of the Italian character; she became
almost garrulous over the incident that had made her faint five
minutes before. Being strong physically, she soon overcame the
horror of blood. She rose without his assistance, and though
wings seemed to flutter inside her, she walked firmly enough
towards the Arno. There a cabman signalled to them; they refused
him.
"And the murderer tried to kiss him, you say--how very odd
Italians are!--and gave himself up to the police! Mr. Beebe was
saying that Italians know everything, but I think they are rather
childish.
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