bruzzi。　He　had　written　to　his　father　that　I　was　ing　and　they　had　made　preparations。　I　myself　felt　as　badly　as　he　did　and　could　not　understand　why　I　had　not　gone。　It　was　what　I　had　wanted　to　do　and　I　tried　to　explain　how　one　thing　had　led　to　another　and　finally　he　saw　it　and　understood　that　I　had　really　wanted　to　go　and　it　was　almost　all　right。　I　had　drunk　much　wine　and　afterward　coffee　and　Strega　and　I　explained；　winefully；　how　we　did　not　do　the　things　we　wanted　to　do；　we　never　did　such　things。

We　two　were　talking　while　the　others　argued。　I　had　wanted　to　go　to　Abruzzi。　I　had　gone　to　no　place　where　the　roads　were　frozen　and　hard　as　iron；　where　it　was　clear　cold　and　dry　and　the　snow　was　dry　and　powdery　and　hare…tracks　in　the　snow　and　the　peasants　took　off　their　hats　and　called　you　Lord　and　there　was　good　hunting。　I　had　gone　to　no　such　place　but　to　the　smoke　of　caf閟　and　nights　when　the　room　whirled　and　you　needed　to　look　at　the　wall　to　make　it　stop；　nights　in　bed；　drunk；　when　you　knew　that　that　was　all　there　was；　and　the　strange　excitement　of　waking　and　not　knowing　who　it　was　with　you；　and　the　world　all　unreal　in　the　dark　and　so　exciting　that　you　must　resume　again　unknowing　and　not　caring　in　the　night；　sure　that　this　was　all　and　all　and　all　and　not　caring。　Suddenly　to　care　very　much　and　to　sleep　to　wake　with　it　sometimes　morning　and　all　that　had　been　there　gone　and　everything　sharp　and　hard　and　clear　and　sometimes　a　dispute　about　the　cost。　Sometimes　still　pleasant　and　fon