“But I thought it was always hot in Naples,” said Alvina.
“No, it isn’t. And my village, you know, when I was small boy, that was in the mountains, an hour quick train from Naples. Cold in the winter, hot in the summer—”
“As cold as England?” said Alvina.
“Hé—and colder. The wolves come down. You could hear them crying in the night, in the frost—”
“How terrifying—!” said Alvina.
“And they will kill the dogs! Always they kill the dogs. You know, they hate dogs, wolves do.” He made a queer noise, to show how wolves hate dogs. Alvina understood, and laughed.
“So should I, if I was a wolf,” she said.
“Yes—eh?” His eyes gleamed on her for a moment.
“Ah but, the poor dogs! You find them bitten—carried away among the trees or the stones, hard to find them, poor things, the next day.”
“How frightened they must be—!” said Alvina.