Monique
For my 18th birthday mom decided to give a dance at Cal del Remedio. The guests had admired the menu-place cards I had prepared, having fun discovering those where, with a tired hand and a clouded brain, I had written "fillet" instead of "fruit" and, among the wines, "Fokai" instead of "Tokai." The Gaspari cousins had sung, accompanying each other with the guitar, some amusing verses that made fun of me wittily. We had danced waltzes and tangos and also a lively quadrille. Then, when the orchestra had gone away for a break, some boys had taken the instruments improvising a wild music and, beating the drum too enthusiastically, Brandolino had ended up putting his arms through it.
A really nice evening. I certainly did not expect my mother to announce to me the next morning - she hadn't said it before so as not to spoil the party - that I had to leave for a Swiss boarding school to perfect my French. I grumbled a bit - I really wanted to have fun - but, accustomed to obeying, I resigned myself to wandering, consoling myself at the idea of knowing another country.
In the large garden of the Brillantmont there were several houses with steep roofs where the girls were divided according to subjects of study or nationality. There were Germans,...
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