Aless (taking his about the bet): You have been talking all the evening, Gildo. You are as bad as a conjurer in the piazza.
(Gildo proclaimed a general silence and, as a guarantee of good faith, pretended to skewer his lips together with a tooth-pick.)
Aless (whispering to me): Argantino is the Prince of the Devils and has commanded them to make the subterranean road from Paris to Montalbano—
Papa: May I speak one word?
Myself (graciously): Yes, Papa. You may even speak two words.
Papa: I—
Aless and Gildo (shouting): One!
Papa:—have—
Aless and Gildo: Two! There now, shut up. You’ve spoken your two words. Silence.
Caro: Signor Enrico, last year you only stayed in Palermo four days; this year you will, of course, stay at least a month.