When they were off at last, Angelo said, with
bitterness:
"I wish you wouldn't wear such tight boots, they hurt my feet."
Luigi answered with indifference:
"My friend, when I am in command of our body, I choose my apparel
according to my own convenience, as I have remarked more than several
times already. When you are in command, I beg you will do as you
please."
Angelo was hurt, and the tears came into his eyes. There was gentle
reproach in his voice, but, not anger, when he replied:
"Luigi, I often consult your wishes, but you never consult mine. When I
am in command I treat you as a guest; I try to make you feel at home;
when you are in command you treat me as an intruder, you make me feel
unwelcome. It embarrasses me cruelly in company, for I can, see that
people notice it and comment on it."
"Oh, damn the people," responded the brother languidly, and with the air
of one who is tired of the subject.
A slight shudder shook the frame of Angelo, but he said nothing and the
conversation ceased. Each buttoned his own share of the nightshirt in
silence; then Luigi, with Paine's Age of Reason in his hand, sat down in
one chair and put his feet in another and lit his pipe, while Angelo took
his Whole Duty of Man, and both began to read.
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