Vendetta Volume 1 By Marie Corelli I, who write this, am a dead man. Dead legally--dead by absolute proofs--dead and buried Ask for me in my native city and they will tell you I was one of the victims of the cholera that ravaged Naples in 1884, and that my mortal remains lie moldering in the funeral vault of my ancestors. Yet--I live I feel the warm blood coursing through my veins--the blood of thirty summers--the prime of early manhood invigorates me, and makes these eyes of mine keen and bright--these muscles strong as iron--this hand powerful of grip-- this well-knit form erect and proud of bearing. Yes --I am alive, though declared to be dead; alive in the fullness of manly force-- and even sorrow has left few distinguishing marks upon me, save one. My hair, once ebony-black, is white as a wreath of Alpine snow, though its clustering curls are thick as ever.
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