I can speak to you no more now.

Farewell!" She sprung past him into the house, and closed the door.

Glyndon did not follow her, nor, strange as it may seem, was he so inclined.

The thought and recollection of that moonlit hour in the gardens, of the strange address of Zanoni, froze up all human passion.

Viola herself, if not forgotten, shrunk back like a shadow into the recesses of his breast.
He shivered as he stepped into the sunlight, and musingly retraced his steps into the more populous parts of that liveliest of Italian cities..