"Oh, go away!" exclaimed Lady Caroline in English, suddenly
exasperated.
There had been a fly in her bedroom that morning which had stuck
just as Costanza was sticking; only one, but it might have been a
myriad it was so tiresome from daylight on. It was determined to
settle on her face, and she was determined it should not. Its
persistence was uncanny. It woke her, and would not let her go to
sleep again. She hit at it, and it eluded her without fuss or effort
and with an almost visible blandness, and she had only hit herself. It
came back again instantly, and with a loud buzz alighted on her cheek.
She hit at it again and hurt herself, while it skimmed gracefully away.
She lost her temper, and sat up in bed and waited, watching to hit at
it and kill it. She kept on hitting at it at last with fury and with
all her strength, as if it were a real enemy deliberately trying to
madden her; and it elegantly skimmed in and out of her blows, not even
angry, to be back again the next instant. It succeeded every time in
getting on to her face, and was quite indifferent how often it was
driven away. That was why she had dressed and come out so early.
Francesca had already been told to put a net over her bed, for she was
not going to allow herself to be annoyed twice like that.
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