“Your father,” I replied coolly, “will hand them all over to the Venetian consul, who will send them to me at Trieste.”
Just as I was sitting down to dinner, the captain of the boat came for my luggage with a sailor. I told him he could have my trunk, and that I would bring the rest aboard whenever he liked to go.
“I intend setting out an hour before dusk.”
“I shall be ready.”
When Mardocheus heard where I was going he begged me to take charge of a small box and a letter he wanted to send to a friend.
“I shall be delighted to do you this small service.”
At dinner Leah sat down with me and chattered as usual, without troubling herself about my monosyllabic answers.
I supposed she wished me to credit her with calm confidence and philosophy, while I looked upon it all as brazen impudence.
I hated and despised her. She had inflamed my passions, told me to my face she did not love me, and seemed to claim my respect through it all. Possibly she expected me to be grateful for her remark that she believed me incapable of betraying her to her father.
As she drank my Scopolo she said there were several bottles left, as well as some Muscat.