she had lost it, at most they would have scolded her. Since then we have been even more friendly.
In the meantime I had turned towards Bacino Orseolo to take a quick look at the latest news from Ravenna - who smiled at me from behind a pile of books, not for nothing as I was the daughter of his best client. I saw a book that I wanted, Poetry of primitive peoples, but it had to wait, at the moment I didn't even have a hundred lire in my pocket.
In Calle San Moise I stopped to look at Vogini bags, I turned towards Codognato and in front of the glitter of the gems I remembered when Mister Papa had come to Calle del Rimedio for breakfast and pulled some rings out of his pocket asking for our opinion: Codognato insisted that he buy at least a couple, they were an opportunity. I was about to say that the ruby was really beautiful when my gaze had met that of Mister Papa, and for fear that he would say: "If you like it it's yours," I returned it quickly and said: "I am not interested in jewels."
It wasn't true. Every time I passed by the Frezzerie I stopped in front of the Viscio window. All fake, agreed, it was not the value that interested me but the shapes and combinations of colors and in front of Mistletoe - even if the most expensive fake jeweler in Venice - I could get lost in calculations and potentially achievable desires. Not so in front of the Codognato window. So I left it almost immediately and turned towards Calle Valeressa, hoping not to meet someone who wished to meet Hemingway.
As soon as I pushed the door of Harry's I immediately saw Mister Papa. He got up and smiled: "You're late, Daughter."
"Late? Didn't we say eleven?"
"It's eight minutes past eleven."
"Ah. Excuse me eight times."
"Listen: now there is no one here, but in a while they...
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