"
That was the last. Very shortly he began to refuse to talk about the
thing at all. The act was completed. Like the creature of fable, it
had consumed itself. Out of that old man's consciousness it had
departed. Amazingly. Like a dream dreamed out.
Slowly at first, in a makeshift, piece-at-a-time, poor man's way,
Boaz commenced to rebuild his house. That "eyesore" vanished.
And slowly at first, like the miracle of a green shoot pressing out
from the dead earth, that priceless and unquenchable exuberance of
the man was seen returning. Unquenchable, after all.
THE LAST ROOM OF ALL
BY STEPHEN FRENCH WHITMAN
From _Harper's Monthly Magazine_
In those days all Italy was in turmoil and Lombardy lay covered with
blood and fire. The emperor, the second Frederick of Swabia, was out
to conquer once for all. His man Salinguerra held the town of Ferrara.
The Marquis Azzo, being driven forth, could slake his rage only on
such outlying castles as favoured the imperial cause.
Of these castles the Marquis Azzo himself sacked and burned many.
But against the castle of Grangioia, remote in the hills, he sent
his captain, Lapo Cercamorte.
This Lapo Cercamorte was nearly forty years old, a warrior from
boyhood, uncouth, barbaric, ferocious.
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