"Permit?" Ofelio said peeking out the door. "Mr. Heminguai is on the phone."
"Tell him I'll come right away." I had long ago given up on having our waiter pronounce the name Hemingway. I gave a last touch of color to a "sketch," put the brush in the water and went to the phone "Hello, Papa "I said.
"Hello, my beauty. How are you this morning? Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you, I slept well. And you?"
"Very well because I dreamed of you. I have something for you, can I come and bring it to you... immediately?"
He's really a big kid, I thought as I returned to my room. And like me: when he has something in mind he has to do it "immediately."
The "drawings" of the fire made by Francesca were funny but I had to color them to make them even more alive. What a fright the night Ca 'Soranzo, adjacent to us, had burned down. The flames had appeared a short distance from my room and due to the beamed ceilings had spread quickly, luckily in a direction parallel to the house. But if the wind changed, Calle del Rimedio would also become a stake.
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