Then he regained possession of himself. He took the train for Rome and never stopped. He had no interest in the old memories of Italy, or the cities of the art of past ages. He saw nothing of Rome, nor wanted to: and what he did see at first, in passing, the styleless new districts, the square blocks of buildings, gave him no desire to see more.
As soon as he arrived he went to see Grazia. She asked him:
"How did you come? Did you stop at Milan or Florence?"
"No," he said. "Why should I?"
She laughed.
"That's a fine thing to say! And what do you think of Rome?"
"Nothing," he said. "I haven't seen it!"
"Not yet?"
"Nothing. Not a single monument. I came straight to you from my hotel."
"You don't need to go far to see Rome…. Look at that wall opposite….
You only need to see its light."