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(Created page with "dark, trickling corner. "You will never forget Italian, cara bambina," Cote said, "It has entered into your blood." Chapter Four I reached Castino wearing what everybody cons...") |
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dark, trickling | [[crossed out: black]] dark, trickling corners. | ||
"You will never forget Italian, cara bambina," | "You will never forget Italian, cara bambina," | ||
Corti said, "It has entered into your blood." | |||
Chapter Four | Chapter Four | ||
I reached Castino wearing what everybody | I reached Castino wearing what everybody | ||
considered to be the funniest Italian shoes. Of the | considered to be the funniest Italian shoes. Of the | ||
little trunk which held my books - Croce, | little trunk which held my books - Croce, DeSanctis, | ||
Manzoni, | Manzoni, Leopardi; Suevo and the rest - my | ||
mother said, "Why, it's the funniest little thing I | mother said, "Why, it's the funniest little thing I | ||
ever saw! It's like a little immigrant trunk!" | ever saw! It's like a little immigrant trunk!" | ||
Line 13: | Line 13: | ||
"Yes, Edith's back and we're so glad to have her | "Yes, Edith's back and we're so glad to have her | ||
home again. You should see the little trunk she | home again. You should see the little trunk she | ||
brought back with her - just like a little | brought back with her - just like a little immigrant | ||
trunk!" | trunk!" | ||
Perhaps, in very small but significant | Perhaps, in very small but significant | ||
measure I had become an immigrant to | measure I [[crossed out: too]] had become an immigrant to | ||
my native country, a graft on m own | my native country, a graft on m own root. | ||
At any rate, the shoes and the trunk, visible | At any rate, the shoes and the trunk, visible | ||
traces of my ineptitude, were tactfully stowed | traces of my ineptitude, were tactfully stowed |
Latest revision as of 05:18, 10 December 2022
crossed out: black dark, trickling corners.
"You will never forget Italian, cara bambina,"
Corti said, "It has entered into your blood."
Chapter Four
I reached Castino wearing what everybody
considered to be the funniest Italian shoes. Of the little trunk which held my books - Croce, DeSanctis, Manzoni, Leopardi; Suevo and the rest - my mother said, "Why, it's the funniest little thing I ever saw! It's like a little immigrant trunk!" And to her friends as she met them in the village, "Yes, Edith's back and we're so glad to have her home again. You should see the little trunk she brought back with her - just like a little immigrant trunk!"
Perhaps, in very small but significant measure I crossed out: too had become an immigrant to my native country, a graft on m own root. At any rate, the shoes and the trunk, visible traces of my ineptitude, were tactfully stowed