“Do I, mamma?” he said, with an uncertain smile.
“Vittoria may be displeased by it.”
“You, mamma, you; not Vittoria.”
“Are you sure?”
“Ask her. Try and ask her. You will cut a poor figure, madre bella, since Vittoria will reply that it matters nothing to her.”
“Pretending?”
“Pretending? Who knows! For that matter I can’t endure people who pretend.”
“Even those who are hiding their sorrow?”
“Even them. A hidden sorrow doesn’t exist for me.
“You are cruel, Marco.”