"You think you can come it over me with
your Gorgio talk and the clever things you've learned in the Gorgio
world. You try to look down on me. I'm as well born or as ill born as
you. The only difference between us is the way you dress, the way you
live and use your tongue. All that belongs to the life of the cities.
Anyone can learn it. Anyone well born like you and me, with a little
practice, can talk like Gorgio dukes and earls. I've been among them and
I know. I've had my friends among them, too. I've got the hang of it all.
It's no good to me, and I don't want it. It's all part of a set piece.
There's no independence in that life; you live by rule. Diable! I know.
I've been in palaces; I've played my fiddle to the women in high places
who can't blush. It's no good; it brings nothing in the end. It's all
hollow. Look at our people there." He swept a hand to the tent door.
"They're tanned and rough, as all out-door things are rough, but they've
got their share of happiness, and every day has its pleasures. Listen to
them!" he cried with a gesture of exultation. "Listen to that!"
The colour slowly left Fleda's face. Outside in the light of the dying
fires, under the glittering stars, in the shade of the trees, groups of
Romanys were singing the Romany wedding melody, called "The Song of the
Sealing.
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