The mother handed him one of her long hairpins. "Here, Giorgio, with this you have a fine letter opener."
The father entered unnoticed. "Is it no more the habit in this house to greet the father come home from work?"
Hurriedly the children showered him with hugs, then ran back to Giorgio.
"Let me open it!" shouted Emilio.
"No," Signora Terni said firmly. "It is Giorgio's."
Giorgio stood very still. He took the letter and the hairpin with trembling hands. The blood throbbed in his head. He had once received flute music sent from Rome, but that was in a thin roll with his name printed by machine. This was a real letter, handwritten in black ink.
"Don't stab too deep," the mother warned. "You might cut also the paper inside."
Cautiously, as if a Jack-in-the-box might pop out, Giorgio slit the envelope. He unfolded the fine white paper and silently read the few lines. His face paled, then flushed.
"What is it?" asked the mother in alarm.
"What does it say?" cried Teria.