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That was her farewell and his this rustic Hero's good-bye to her Leander. When he reached the Caffè Berardi its door stood open, and a middle-aged woman was looking out seaward. Beyond, by the caves, he saw figures moving. His companions were awake. He hastened towards them. His morning plunge in the sea had given him a wild appetite. "Frittura!
Besides the fruit of this plant, which we begin to be supplied with about August, its young leaf and stalk are boiled like kail for common greens; and its yellow flower, a little later, makes a frittura, which is in request. Fruits are plentiful, and some of them good; but, for the greater part, of a very inferior quality.
And when the sun is up Carmela will take the fish and make a frittura, and we all eat it and drink more wine, and then " "And then you're ready for the Campo Santo?" said Hermione. "No, signora. Then we will dance the tarantella, and come home up the mountain singing, 'O sole mio! and 'A mezzanotte a punto, and the song of the Mafioso, and " Hermione began to laugh unrestrainedly.
And to-morrow we'll watch for you, Lucrezia and I, watch for you down there on the path. But you'll bring us some of the fish, Maurice? You won't forget us?" "Forget you!" he said. "You shall have all " "No, no. Only the little fish, the babies that Carmela rejects from the frittura." "I'll go into the sea with Gaspare," said Maurice. "I'm sure you will, and farther out even than he does."
Here the consumption of tough macaroni or of an ambiguous frittura sufficed to transport me to the Cappello d'Oro in Venice, while my cup of coffee and a wasp-waisted cigar with a straw in it turned my greasy table-cloth into the marble top of one of the little round tables under the arcade of the Caffe Pedrotti at Padua.
Frittura!" he shouted, taking off his hat and waving it. Gaspare came running towards him. "Where have you been, signorino?" "For a walk along the shore." He still kept his hat in his hand. "Why, your face is all wet, and so is your hair." "I washed them in the sea. Mangiamo! Mangiamo!" "You did not sleep?" Gaspare spoke curiously, regarded him with inquisitive, searching eyes. "I couldn't.
I'll sleep up there when we get home." He pointed to the mountain. His eyes were dancing with gayety. "The frittura, Gasparino, the frittura! And then the tarantella, and then 'O sole mio'!" He looked towards the rising sun, and began to sing at the top of his voice: "O sole, o sole mio, Sta 'n fronte a te, Sta 'n fronte a te!"
From the living-room of the light-keeper's cottage, where Giorgio, one of the Immortal Thousand, was bending his leonine and heroic head over a charcoal fire, there came the sound of sizzling and the aroma of an artistic frittura. In the obscure disarray of that thing, happening like a cataclysm, it was in her feminine head that some gleam of reason survived.
He paused, then as Gaspare said nothing, and the others, who had received a warning sign from him, stood round with deliberately vacant faces, he added, clapping Gaspare on the shoulder, and holding out one end of the net: "Off with your clothes, compare, and we will soon have a fine frittura for Carmela." But Gaspare shook his head. "In summer I don't mind.
Filomena had laid a table in the stone chamber known as the bailiff's parlour, and thither the abate dragged his charge and set him down before the coarse tablecloth covered with earthen platters. A tallow dip threw its flare on the abate's big aquiline face as he sat opposite Odo, gulping the hastily prepared frittura and the thick purple wine in its wicker flask. Odo could eat nothing.
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