She drew back with a startled face. “Don't!” she cried out piteously. “Please don't ever do that again! You hurt me!”
“Do you think you didn't hurt the man you killed?”
“The man I—killed—— Ah, there is Cesare at the gate at last! I—I must go!”
When Martini came into the room he found the Gadfly lying alone with the untouched coffee beside him, swearing softly to himself in a languid, spiritless way, as though he got no satisfaction out of it.
CHAPTER IX.
A FEW days later, the Gadfly, still rather pale and limping more than usual, entered the reading room of the public library and asked for Cardinal Montanelli's sermons. Riccardo, who was reading at a table near him, looked up. He liked the Gadfly very much, but could not digest this one trait in him—this curious personal maliciousness.
“Are you preparing another volley against that unlucky Cardinal?” he asked half irritably.
“My dear fellow, why do you a-a-always attribute evil m-m-motives to people? It's m-most unchristian. I am preparing an essay on contemporary theology for the n-n-new paper.”