Giovanni grew white as marble,
and stood motionless before the mirror, staring at his own
reflection there, as at the likeness of something frightful. He
remembered Baglioni's remark about the fragrance that seemed to
pervade the chamber. It must have been the poison in his breath!
Then he shuddered- shuddered at himself! Recovering from his stupor,
he began to watch, with curious eye, a spider that was busily at work,
hanging its web from the antique cornice of the apartment, crossing
and re-crossing the artful system of interwoven lines, as vigorous and
active a spider as ever dangled from an old ceiling. Giovanni bent
towards the insect, and emitted a deep, long breath. The spider
suddenly ceased its toil; the web vibrated with a tremor originating
in the body of the small artizan. Again Giovanni sent forth a
breath, deeper, longer, and imbued with a venomous feeling out of
his heart; he knew not whether he were wicked or only desperate. The
spider made a convulsive gripe with his limbs, and hung dead across
the window.
"Accursed! Accursed!" muttered Giovanni, addressing himself.
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