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 As he spoke I saw that a great mirth had been lighted in Mazzaleone, and that the so reasonable speech of Messer Gubbio filled him with silent laughter. Messer Gubbio went on to counting out each contrada of the city that lists might be made of those who have the ballot, and how each great house and each man of importance in each contrada should possess himself of the people's confidence.

"But," says some one, "what then of the ballots of the poor and the maimed and the unworthy and the weaklings themselves whose pruning shall help our town? What of their ballots? Shall weak kill weak?"

"Oh," says Messer Gubbio, "those will be easily bought up for gain." And all in the company nodded and bowed together as gravely and discussed as gravely as the Podestà himself.

Only Ludovico da Casamatto, a stern old noble, sprang to his feet, and says he: "Away with your slaughter of your townsmen! My blood be on my own head!"

And young Juliano di Donati, a wild youth, but one of great bravery and pride, "And mine, as well!"