Not good ground for galloping
The square was beautiful on St. Mark's day. And not only for the warm air and the new light of spring, but above all for that joyful coming and going of women with a rose in their hand: in fact there was no admirer or lover who did not respect the tradition of the homage of the "bòcolo" to the woman of his heart, on St. Mark's day.
One of the youngest and most graceful even had two, three ringlets in her hand, and eyes sparkling with excitement. Another, arm in arm with her husband and dragging a small son by the hand, sported a smile of satisfied pride. All, doing the "liston," that is, walking up and down the square, seemed more cheerful and casual on St. Mark's day.
As mealtime was near, the pigeons began to fly over the Piazza in ever lower circles, ready to descend as soon as the man with the grain sack appeared.
"Good morning, miss."
I turned around and immediately recognized the nice drunk with the slightly gray hair and the slightly worn dress with whom I had chatted that night under the Lion of the Piazzetta. "Good morning, Toni. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine." Toni said with a satisfied air. "I'm just fine."
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