Among Women Only Read Online Free PDF

the evening. She was surprised and said that she still wanted to see me again, we had many things to talk over; she wanted to persuade me to so something for them, Momina had told her how nice I was.
    "She didn't come this evening," I said, just to say something.
    Mariella brightened and excused Momina. She said Momina had telephoned saying she didn't know, she thought she would visit the Molas.
    "You know... ?" she said, lowering her voice and raising her eyes.
    "Yes," I said. "How is Rosetta?"
    Then Mariella colored and, flustered, said that if I knew Rosetta we would have to talk about it; poor thing, her parents didn't understand her and made life impossible for her, she was strong and sensitive, she absolutely needed to live, to have things, she was more mature than her years and she, Mariella, was afraid that now their friendship wouldn't survive that terrible experience.
    "But she, the girl, how is she?"
    "Yes, yes, she's recovered, but she doesn't want to see us, she doesn't want to see anyone. She only asks for Momina and won't see anyone else..."
    "That's nothing," I said, "provided she gets better."
    "Of course, but I'm afraid she hates me..."
    I looked at her. She seemed upset.
    "It must be the nausea after the Veronal," I said. "When one's sick to the stomach, one doesn't want to see people."
    "But she sees Momina," Mariella shot back immediately. "It makes me sick."
    I thought: You've some growing up to do, my dear. I hope I could control myself better in your place.
    I said: "Rosetta didn't take Veronal just to spite you." I said this with a goodbye smile. Mariella smiled and held out her hand.
    I waved at the nearest people, leaving Morelli in his circle with the bow tie and the girls, and went off. It was drizzling outside and I took a trolley on the avenue.
     
     
    7
     
    Not two days had passed before Mariella telephoned me. I hadn't seen anyone since that evening and had spent the whole time in the Via Po. The girl's voice laughed, insisted, panted with volubility. She wanted me to see her friends, to see them for her sake and help them. Would I be able to see her that afternoon for tea? Or better, could we stop a moment in Loris's studio?
    "That way we'll encourage them," she said. "If you knew how nice they are."
    She picked me up at the Via Po, dressed in a gay fur jacket in the Cossack style. The house was on the other side of the Via Po. We went under the porticoes around the square and Mariella drew away from the carnival booths without a glance. I thought of how only a few days' absence from Rome had settled me into new responsibilities and the company of true natives. Even Maurizio had sent no more narcissi.
    Mariella chattered and told me many things about life in Turin and the shops. For having seen them only as a customer, she knew them well. To judge a shop by its show window is difficult for anybody who has never dressed one. Mariella, however, understood them. She told me that her grandmother was still the terror of the dressmakers.
    We arrived at the top of a dirty stairway that I didn't much like. I would rather have continued talking. Mariella rang.
    All painters' studios are alike. They have the disorder of certain shops, but studied and done on purpose. You never can find out when they work; there always seems to be something wrong with the light. We found Loris on the unmade bed—no bow tie this time —and the girl with bangs let us in. She had on a threadbare coat and glowered at Mariella. She was smoking. Loris was also smoking, a pipe,- and both seemed put out of temper by our arrival. Mariella laughed warmly and said: "Where's my stool?" Loris stayed on the bed.
    We sat down with forced gaiety. Mariella began her prattling, asked for news, was amazed, went to the window. Loris, black and taciturn, barely responded. The thin girl, whose name was Nene, looked me over. She was a strange, heavy-lipped girl of about twenty-eight. She smoked with impatient gestures and bit her nails.