The doorman replied, tipping his cap, “I don’t speak much Italian these days, not since my mother died. Her gratitude swelled within her. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. " With this, he struck the door a heavy blow.
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