Her Husband Read Online Free PDF Page A

doesn’t it seem just a bit too much?”
    “A banquet … Dear me, what’s so bad about it?” asked Donna Francesca Lampugnani.
    “We are promoting her glory!” Jacono snorted again.
    “Ah!” All spoke in unison.
    An inspired Jacono went on: “Excuse me, excuse me, it will be in all the newspapers.”
    “So?” Dora Barmis said, opening her arms and shrugging.
    From that spark of chitchat the conversation caught fire. Everyonebegan to talk about Signora Roncella, as though they only now remembered why they were there. No one admitted being an unqualified admirer. Here and there someone recognized… yes, some good qualities, such as an unusually clear, strange penetration of life through a too close, perhaps myopic, attention to detail . . . and some kind of new and distinctive spirit in the poetic descriptions, and an unusual narrative quality. But it seemed to everyone that too much had been made of House of Dwarves . Admittedly a good novel . . . perhaps. Affirmation of an unusual talent, without a doubt, but not the masterpiece of humor it had been proclaimed. Anyway, it was strange that a young woman could write it who up to now had lived almost totally without worldly experience down there in Taranto. There was imagination and also thought: little literature, but life, life.
    “Has she been married long?”
    “For one or two years, they say.”
    Suddenly all the discussions were interrupted. On the terrace were the Honorable Senator Romualdo Borghi, Minister of Public Instruction, director of Vita Italiana , and Maurizio Gueli, the famous writer, the Maestro. For ten years neither friends’ entreaties nor editors’ lucrative offers had been able to make him break his silence.
    Everyone moved aside to let them pass. The two did not go well together: Borghi was short, stocky, long haired, with a gossipy old servant’s flat, leathery face; Gueli was tall, vigorous, with a still youthful air despite his white hair that contrasted strongly with the high color of his austere, masculine face.
    With the presence of Gueli and Borghi, the banquet now assumed great importance.
    Not a few were surprised that the Maestro had come to personally affirm his esteem of Roncella, which he had already declared to some. He was known to be very affable and friendly to young people, but his presence at the banquet seemed overly generous, and many suffered from envy, realizing that this would almost officially consecrate Silvia Roncella today. Others felt more cheerful. Gueli’s appearance validated their presence also.
    But why hadn’t Raceni come yet? It was really shameful! Keepingeveryone waiting like that; and Gueli and Borghi mixed with the others, without anyone to receive them. . . .
    “Here they are! Here they are!” Lampini, who had gone down to check, ran in to announce.
    “Raceni’s here?”
    “Yes, with Signora Roncella and her husband. Here they are!”
    Everyone turned with lively curiosity toward the terrace entrance.
    A very pale Silvia Roncella appeared on Raceni’s arm, her face troubled by inner agitation. Among the guests who moved aside to let them pass, there immediately spread a flurry of whispered comments: “That one?” “Short!” “No, not too . . .” “Badly dressed.” “Beautiful eyes!” “God, what a hat!” “Poor thing, she’s uncomfortable!” “Skinny!” “She’s not saying a word.” “Why not? She’s pretty when she smiles.” “Very shy.” “But look at her eyes: she’s not bashful!” “Pretty enough, isn’t she?” “It seems impossible!” “If she were well dressed . . . hair done . . .” “You can’t really say she’s beautiful.” “She’s so awkward!” “She doesn’t seem …” “What compliments from Borghi!” “Get an umbrella! All that spit.” “What’s Gueli saying to her?” “But her husband, ladies and gentlemen! Look at her husband!” “Where is he? Where is he?” “There, next to Gueli . . . look at him! Look at