"How's Vicente doing?"
"Fine. He's a great boy."
"And what does Angelina write ... or should I ask?"
"She wrote strangely."
"How do you mean?"
"She told about a round of parties, and then made curious remarks about Caterina."
"Are you worried about her?"
"Something's wrong." But he avoided saying anything more.
While a girl removed their fruit husks, they smiled sadly at each other. His hand grasped hers. They wanted to push aside unhappiness. The girl set down a platter of golden-brown pámpanos ringed with sliced limes.
"I'd like to walk to the old church this afternoon," he said.