"Si, signora. They are all alike."
"And what are they like?"
"Oh, signora, you know as well as I do. They must have their own way and we must not think to have ours. They must roam where they like, love where they choose, day or night, and we must sit in the doorway and get to bed at dark, and not bother where they've been or what they've done. They say we've no right, except one or two. There's Francesco, to be sure. He's a lamb with Maria. She can sit with her face to the street. But she wouldn't sit any other way, and he knows it. But the rest! Eh, già!"
"You don't think much of men, Lucrezia!"
"Oh, signora, they're just as God made them. They can't help it any more than we can help—"
She stopped and pursed her lips suddenly, as if checking some words that were almost on them.
"Lucrezia, come here and sit by me."
Lucrezia looked up with a sort of doubtful pleasure and surprise.
"Signora?"
"Come here."