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"What ridiculous whims!" Signer Odoardo exclaims, throwing his head back against the sofa cushions. Signor Odoardo is unjust, and, what is worse, he does not believe what he is saying. He knows that this is no whim of Doretta's. He knows it better than the child herself, who would probably find it difficult to explain what she is undergoing.
And she was pretty, like Doretta, even though she did not possess the fair hair and captivating eyes of Signora Evelina. The man-servant who brings in the breakfast is accompanied by a newcomer, the cat Melanio, who is always present at Doretta's meals. The cat Melanio is old; he has known Doretta ever since she was born, and he honors her with his protection.
The cloud has settled again upon Doretta's forehead, the same cloud that darkened it in the morning. Not a word is said of La Fontaine's fable. Instead, Signor Odoardo grumbles irritably: "This blessed room is as cold as ever." "Why shouldn't it be," Doretta retorts with a touch of asperity, "when you open the window every few minutes?"
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