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 I had a sweetheart instead of a friend in Simonetta, and feeling no little pride in myself, therefore, I now slunk away, having received a death-sentence from a mad and relentless judge.

I went to my own home, and I had hardly got within the doors when Simon the usurer's wife came crying and shrieking to us. My mother and I ran with her, not making head nor tail of her lamentations. She kept repeating over and over, "He was so afraid of death he has killed himself!" We thought her gone daft, until in the courtyard gate we came upon Simon himself, swinging where he had hanged himself. And he swung to and fro gently in the morning breeze, a wagging pendulum of fear.

I was now no more a young philosopher with the keen eyes of Mazzaleone. No longer did I move upon the outside, marveling over the turpitude of men. Now I knew why Gemma had sought her secret and shameful love, and why my lady sat with her black ballot in her hand, and why Simon the usurer had killed himself, for there were times when panic was in my breast and I