page_100 - vigji/cainjb GitHub Wiki
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Annotated text:
I dimly guess why the old dead so wanted this. I
had worked for him, Henry had worked for
him. If I could get up, as, believe me, I cannot, I
would have a thing to say to her. She lolls over
at me gloating, her mouth blood-tinted on the
puma freckle of her beauty. Why should I think
of Henry at this particular juncture? I have it.
Scotland Yard, of course. And little twill
matter to one. A sorry thing to be last noticed :
the buttonhole has escaped from the
buttonholer. He, the reckless old cock, slips
down past Woolworths and she continues
full-sail toward the Kursal, as flush---oh, you
wicked woman---as May. The girl is smiling at
me. Thats not so good. Here I shake off the bur
o the world, mans congregation shun. O
beastly woman. You know not how ills all here,
about my heart ; but I know. Henry, I feel it, is
for the first and last time getting out of hand.
Good-bye, Henry. He drops awa. . . . .
Original page: page_100.pdf
Original text:
I dimly guess why the old dead so wanted this. I
had worked for him, Henry had worked for
him. If I could get up, as, believe me, I cannot, I
would have a thing to say to her. She lolls over
at me gloating, her mouth blood-tinted on the
puma freckle of her beauty. Why should I think
of Henry at this particular juncture? I have it.
Scotland Yard, of course. And little twill
matter to one. A sorry thing to be last noticed :
the buttonhole has escaped from the
buttonholer. He, the reckless old cock, slips
down past Woolworths and she continues
full-sail toward the Kursal, as flush---oh, you
wicked woman---as May. The girl is smiling at
me. Thats not so good. Here I shake off the bur
o the world, mans congregation shun. O
beastly woman. You know not how ills all here,
about my heart ; but I know. Henry, I feel it, is
for the first and last time getting out of hand.
Good-bye, Henry. He drops awa. . . . .
Italian text:
Intuisco vagamente perché il vecchio morto desiderava tutto questo. lo avevo lavorato per lui, Henry aveva lavorato per lui. Se potessi alzarmi e, credetemi, non posso, avrei una cosa da dirle. Lei gongol a maligna china su di me, con la bocca dipinta di rosso sangue sulle efelidi della sua bellezza da puma. Perché dovrei pensare a Henry in questa particolare occasione ? Ho capito. Scotland Yard, certo. E poco importerà a qualcuno. In ultimo, una cosa spiacevole da notare : Sir Roland è finalmente ri uscito a sganciarsi dalla signora Cave. Lui, lo sconsiderato vecchio gallo, supera Woolworth's e lei continua a veleggiare verso il Kursaal, freschi - oh, tu, donna malvagia - al pari di un maggio. La ragazza mi sorride. Non va molto bene. Qui mi scrollo di dosso il peso del mondo, escluso dalla congrega degli uomini. O, donna bestiale. Tu non sai quanto male ci sia qui, intorno al mio cuore ; ma io lo so. Henry, lo sento, mi sta sfuggendo di mano per la prima e ultima volta . Addio, Henry. Lui svanisce pian pia . . .