She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. That will be a fine day—it will have to be, when first you set eyes on Italy. . What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair.
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