But you always are....
There, you see, you think so! There are months and years when I am alone, when nobody sees me. Then I am struggling. I make a great deal of sport about work and, indeed, I won't work at anything that doesn't interest me, but you know, you must know by now, how much I want to write. It is coming so slowly. It is getting late ... late. I must go away to think. I'm too happy here and I am losing time. He was very earnest now. I must write my book.
But you are coming back to the villa. Your clothes are there, and you will want to say good-bye to Edith.
No, that is just what I want to avoid and that is what you can do for me. I can't say good-bye to Edith. She would persuade me to stay. It would be so easy! You, especially, could persuade me to stay, but I know you won't, now that you understand how I feel. I shall catch the night express for Milan. Please, try to explain to Edith ... and you can pack my bags and send them after me.
But where are you going?
I don't know, and even if I did know and told you, you might be certain that I would change my mind and go somewhere else. Dispatch my bags to the American Express Company in Paris and I will send for them.
When shall we meet again?
Peter stood up, his nude body outlined against the crumbling, pink, vine-covered wall. Then he turned and stooped to draw on his clothing.
Chi lo sa? It will be sometime. You are going back to New York?
Yes, very soon. Perhaps next week.