“I don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. ‘Point it at me. She felt his crotch through his jeans. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. Rumor in the Palazzo had it that her new doctor was a powerful archbishop from the south who conducted most of his dealings in secret. “Quite alone, sir. Can you come over?” “I think so. .
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