She gave a sudden cry of shame. "This time--the same
place--the same thing"--and she began to beat down her
happiness, knowing it to be sinful. She was here to fight
against this place, to rescue a little soul--who was innocent
as yet. She was here to champion morality and purity, and
the holy life of an English home. In the spring she had
sinned through ignorance; she was not ignorant now. "Help
me!" she cried, and shut the window as if there was magic in
the encircling air. But the tunes would not go out of her
head, and all night long she was troubled by torrents of
music, and by applause and laughter, and angry young men who
shouted the distich out of Baedeker:--
Poggibonizzi fatti in la,
Che Monteriano si fa citta!
Poggibonsi was revealed to her as they sang--a joyless,
straggling place, full of people who pretended. When she
woke up she knew that it had been Sawston.
Chapter 7
At about nine o'clock next morning Perfetta went out on to
the loggia, not to look at the view, but to throw some dirty
water at it. "Scusi tanto!" she wailed, for the water
spattered a tall young lady who had for some time been
tapping at the lower door.
"Is Signor Carella in?" the young lady asked. It was no
business of Perfetta's to be shocked, and the style of the
visitor seemed to demand the reception-room. Accordingly
she opened its shutters, dusted a round patch on one of the
horsehair chairs, and bade the lady do herself the
inconvenience of sitting down.
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