“You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. Time after time he sent Spurlock into this corner or that; but always the boy regained his feet before the murderous boot could reach the mark. But you couldn't. For your information, it was paradise there. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. I had rather have trouble and hardship like that than be taken care of by others. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. Disgusted him! “For men policemen never blush; A man in all things scores so much. How old are you?’ ‘I have nineteen years, and it is quite unimportant.
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