The fellow is little better than a lunatic. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. The key is in my trousers. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice.
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