I like him.
If you must have a priest have that priest.
He's coming to see you.
He makes big preparations."
"I like him."
"Oh, I knew it.
Sometimes I think you and he are a little that way.
You know."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do sometimes. A little that way like the number of the first regiment of the Brigata Ancona."
"Oh, go to hell."
He stood up and put on his gloves.
"Oh I love to tease you, baby.
With your priest and your English girl, and really you are just like me underneath."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, we are.
You are really an Italian.
All fire and smoke and nothing inside.
You only pretend to be American.
We are brothers and we love each other."
"Be good while I'm gone," I said.
"I will send Miss Barkley.
You are better with her without me.
You are purer and sweeter."
"Oh, go to hell."
"I will send her.
Your lovely cool goddess.
English goddess.
My God what would a man do with a woman like that except worship her?
What else is an Englishwoman good for?"
"You are an ignorant foul-mouthed dago."
"A what?"
"An ignorant wop."
"Wop.
You are a frozen-faced . . . wop."
"You are ignorant.
Stupid." I saw that word pricked him and kept on. "Uninformed.
Inexperienced, stupid from inexperience."
"Truly?
I tell you something about your good women.
Your goddesses.
There is only one difference between taking a girl who has always been good and a woman.
With a girl it is painful.
That's all I know." He slapped the bed with his glove. "And you never know if the girl will really like it."
"Don't get angry."
"I'm not angry.
I just tell you, baby, for your own good.
To save you trouble."
"That's the only difference?"
"Yes.