"Her sister here!" I exclaimed. "Her sister!"
Blunt turned to me politely, but only for a long mute gaze. His
eyes were in deep shadow and it struck me for the first time then
that there was something fatal in that man's aspect as soon as he
fell silent. I think the effect was purely physical, but in
consequence whatever he said seemed inadequate and as if produced
by a commonplace, if uneasy, soul.
"Dona Rita brought her down from her mountains on purpose. She is
asleep somewhere in this house, in one of the vacant rooms. She
lets them, you know, at extortionate prices, that is, if people
will pay them, for she is easily intimidated. You see, she has
never seen such an enormous town before in her life, nor yet so
many strange people. She has been keeping house for the uncle-
priest in some mountain gorge for years and years. It's
extraordinary he should have let her go. There is something
mysterious there, some reason or other. It's either theology or
Family. The saintly uncle in his wild parish would know nothing of
any other reasons. She wears a rosary at her waist. Directly she
had seen some real money she developed a love of it. If you stay
with me long enough, and I hope you will (I really can't sleep),
you will see her going out to mass at half-past six; but there is
nothing remarkable in her; just a peasant woman of thirty-four or
so. A rustic nun. . . ."
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