The Visitant: A Venetian Ghost Story - Plot & Excerpts
I knew he’d had petit mal seizures in the past, but I wanted the reassurance of my father’s familiar words. He too had found such seizures disconcerting. It was some comfort to know it, even if I could not stop thinking of the sudden cold and the strangeness that had accompanied Samuel’s trance. The cold was no doubt only a draft, but the rest . . . I put it off to my imagination, which had always been a bit too vibrant. The seizure had taken me by surprise. Next time, I would be more prepared. It was dark outside my window, but I heard laughter in the courtyard below and saw flickering bits of light whenever the kitchen door opened. The entire Nardi clan must be down there now, judging by the noise. How did Madame Basilio sleep? How did anyone? I glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. I thought about going down and throwing them out myself, or at least asking for quiet, but I had already dressed for bed, and the coal brazier had just now managed to take the chill edge off the air, and I knew I would get no cooperation from Giulia or Zuan, and would only end up retreating to the third floor with my tail between my legs.
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