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to put up with that 'highly spiritual' Fogazzaro always around!"

"Don't be angry, dear." Aunt Laura said, getting up to pass the ham and a bottle of wine to Beppi, sitting in the stern.

"We know that an artist, especially in the field of creation, must be granted a certain freedom." said Aunt Emma. "Freedom to fly with the imagination..." and I raised my eyes to the sky waving a hand in the air. "But there is always a limit, in everything." I sighed wiping my fingers with the napkin. "In this case, one cannot disagree with Damerini. Now I'll read the end of his article."

I sipped some wine, then rummagef through her bag. I took out a sheet of newspaper. I tried again and took out a light bulb that she usually needed to light up the keyhole of the Calle del Rimedio door and put the key in it at night. ...Renata is a silly virgin, so beautiful that she flatters the mature colonel's self-love..." I began to read. "No, sorry, that wasn't it. It has to be ahead..." I moved the light bulb up and down the paper and said, "Here it is!" Then I turned the bulb towards the stern, where Beppi, with his back to us, was happily draining his bottle of wine.

"Here you are..." and again I sighed. "...'Says the Venetian chat: either the intimate idyll narrated and existed and then it is not clear how, in telling it, the author did not feel the need to free Renata's character from the particularities that would allow her to be recognized; or not, probably, that a figment of the imagination and then it becomes even more unforgivable that he presented it in this way, provoking hypotheses such as to encourage the amplifications of malpractice'..."

Aunt Emma's voice continued to read. From the expanse of the Lagoon, silver hour under the full moon, I heard...