Nor did it strike Ruggiero as at all improbable that Beatrice might some
day wish to be rid of the Conte di San Miniato, and might express such a
wish, ever so vaguely, within Ruggiero's hearing. He had the bad taste
to judge her by himself, and of course if she really hated her betrothed
she would wish him to die. It was a sin, doubtless, to wish anybody
dead, and it was a greater sin to put out one's hands and kill the
person in question. But it was human nature, according to Ruggiero's
simple view, and of course Beatrice felt like other human beings in
this matter and all the principal affairs of life. He had made up his
mind, and he never repeated the words he had spoken to himself. He was a
simple man, and he puffed at his stump of a black cigar and strolled
down to the boat to find out whether the Cripple and the Son of the Fool
had spliced that old spare mooring-rope which had done duty last night
and had been found chafed this morning.
Meanwhile the human nature on which Ruggiero counted so naturally and
confidently was going through a rather strange phase of development in
the upper regions where the Marchesa's terrace was situated.
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