“Signora! Signora!”
“Signora!”
A hand touched her, gripped her.
“Signora!”
The shutter was sharply drawn back from her eyes, and she saw Ruffo. He stood before her, gazing at her. His hair, wet from the sea, was plastered down upon his brown forehead—as his hair had been when, in the night, they drew him from the sea.
She saw Ruffo in that moment as if for the first time.
And she knew. Ruffo had told her.
CHAPTER XXXVII
Hermione was outside in the street, hearing the cries of ambulant sellers, the calls of women and children, the tinkling bells and the rumble of the trams, and the voice of Fabiano Lari speaking—was it to her?