I don’t know where he is, he said coming back into the pastry room carrying the glass.
He wanted a quart of it, said the wife.
How much is a quarter litre, the y. g. asked the girl.
Of the bianco? One lira.
No, of the marsala. Put these two in too, he said giving her his own glass and the one poured for Peduzzi. She filled the quarter litre wine measure with a funnel. A bottle to carry it, said the y. g.
She went to hunt for a bottle. It all amused her.
I’m sorry you feel so rotten Tiny, he said, I’m sorry I talked the way I did at lunch. We were both getting at the same thing from different angles.
It doesn’t make any difference, she said. None of it makes any difference.
Are you too cold, he asked. I wish you’d worn another sweater.
I’ve got on three sweaters.