Over her shoulders she wore
a black shawl, and as she talked she kept fidgeting with it, pulling
it first to one side, then to the other, or dragging at it with her
thin and crooked yellow fingers. The parrot watched her steadily. Her
hideous voice played upon Hermione's nerves till they felt raw. At
length, looking back, as she walked, with bloodshot eyes, she went
into the kitchen, followed by the young woman. They began talking
together in sibilant whispers, like people conspiring.
After a moment of apparent hesitation Maddalena gave her visitor a
chair.
"Thank you," Hermione said, taking it.
She looked round the room again. It was clean and well kept, but
humbly furnished. Ruffo's bed was rolled up in a corner. On the walls
were some shields of postcards and photographs, such as the poor
Italians love, deftly enough arranged and fastened together by some
mysterious not apparent means. Many of the postcards were American.
Near two small flags, American and Italian, fastened crosswise above
the head of the big bed, was a portrait of Maria Addolorata, under
which burned a tiny light.
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