In the Borghese Gardens
“It depends.”
“Can a girl walk with a man in the gardens of Rome more than once and not be unpleasantly talked of?”
“I am afraid—not,” he answered.
“Then, Signor Curatulo, why do you ask this thing of me?”
His eyes were eloquent, but he answered nothing.
“We will not walk in the gardens again,” she said.
“As you will,” he answered gravely.
She stepped into the car, and he lifted his hat, holding it in his hand as she drove by.
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