The harmony wavered and sank, and out of the shuddering silence that
followed Lemuel Doret turned again from the city.
THE FLOWER OF SPAIN
I
From the window of the drawing-room Lavinia Sanviano could see, on the
left, the Statue of Garibaldi, where the Corso Regina Maria cut into
the Lungarno; on the right, and farther along, the gray-green foliage
of the Cascine. Before her the Arno flowed away, sluggish and without a
wrinkle or reflection on its turbid surface, into Tuscany. It was past
the middle of afternoon, and a steady procession of carriages and
mounted officers in pale blue tunics moved below toward the shade of
the Cascine.
Lavinia could not see this gay progress very well, for the window--it
had only a narrow ledge guarded by an iron grille--was practically
filled by her sister, Gheta, and Anna Mantegazza. Occasionally she
leaned forward, pressed upon Gheta's shoulder, for a hasty
unsatisfactory glimpse.
"You are crushing my sleeves!" Gheta finally and sharply complained.
"Do go somewhere else. Anna and I want to talk without your young ears
eternally about. When do you return to the convent?"
Lavinia drew back. However, she didn't leave. She was accustomed to her
sister's complaining, and--unless the other went to their father--she
ignored her hints. Lavinia's curiosity in worldly scenes and topics was
almost as full as her imagination thereof. She was sixteen, and would
have to endure another year of obscurity before her marriage could be
thought of, or she take any part in the social life where Gheta moved
with such marked success.
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