Partly Cloudy, 64°
Alack! What grave, grave misfortune! Evening last, my husband, the High Count Antonio Borrellinono gambled away my very last ducat. His misfortune at the cards has laid my purse completely bare.
What is to become of me? If the count were to cast me out, I would be penniless! Many nights, he dines at the Desenzano, overlooking the Riviera, where he drinks much prosecco. Woe, if only he could be as highly pleased by the recitation of a fine comedy or a horseback ride through the grounds.
Aye, but if the count were to pass tomorrow, I could live quite well as the dowager of his estate. I am afeard that before his time comes, he will gamble away every last piece of his inheritance. Anon, swift action must be taken…
Perhaps the count’s steward could be of help. He regards me as a virtuous Madonna, and I am quite sure he will come to my aide. I suppose the dear man could assay to manufacture a bit of hemlock or arsenic? Yes yes, arsenic will do extremely well.
Erelong, I do believe that my count will enjoy his last prosecco.
