“Say your prayers then. That ought to create a splendid impression.”
“Maybe I won’t talk.”
“That’s true. Often people don’t talk.”
“I won’t talk.”
“Don’t brag, darling. Please don’t brag. You’re so sweet and you don’t have to brag.”
“I won’t talk a word.”
“Now you’re bragging, darling. You know you don’t need to brag. Just start your prayers or poetry or something when they tell you to breathe deeply. You’ll be lovely that way and I’ll be so proud of you. I’m very proud of you anyway. You have such a lovely temperature and you sleep like a little boy with your arm around the pillow and think it’s me. Or is it some other girl? Some fine Italian girl?”
“It’s you.”
“Of course it’s me. Oh I do love you and Valentini will make you a fine leg. I’m glad I don’t have to watch it.”
“And you’ll be on night duty to-night.”
“Yes. But you won’t care.”
“You wait and see.”
“There, darling. Now you’re all clean inside and out. Tell me. How many people have you ever loved?”
“Nobody.”
“Not me even?”
“Yes, you.”
“How many others really?”
“None.”
“How many have you—how do you say it?—stayed with?”
“None.”
