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and so it requires a lot of prayers on May 30. But now that I know of June 9 I know what measures to take.

Dear Papa. I never really thought he was joking about religion. I had never heard him swear; he respected and helped Don Adres; he had established that which he had earned by writing a piece on Torcello that would be given to the priest of Santa Fosca, Don Francesco. And one day when he was a little late in Calle del Rimedio, he apologized saying that he had stopped at San Marco to say a prayer, because it was Sant'Ernesto. My dear old Papa. Today, last day of June, at Sant'Ernesto. I want to ask him to help my Papa.

He is so good and generous to everyone. I regret having often scolded him, but if I scolded him it was because I love him. He never took offense. "Last night I had a very strange and happy dream with you. Ever since I started my giant campaign against being stupid, conceited, pompous and boring we have always gotten along wonderfully in dreams and you think I'm a good man as I hope to be if my giant campaign against my null general is successful. I wish you were here running the campaign. He needs a director of greater value than I. Black Dog does his best. But he's too kind." "You and I know the flaws of my character because you have always explained to me in detail the ones that had escaped me. Muchas gratias, General Marti." Oh Papa, how I wish you were here, complete with flaws and all!

The old lady kissed the rosary and lifting her black shawl made it disappear into a pocket. I got up with her, almost at the same time our hands, before making the sign of the Cross, touched the holy water in the marble basin next to the door.

Leaving San Marco, I was dazzled by the light for a moment. I turned towards the Piazzetta then along the Riva degli Schiavoni.