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But you are well educated one sees that it is not fit work for such as you." "Never mind that," Olive said eagerly. "How does one begin being a model? I will try that. Will you help me?" Rosina beamed at her. "Sicuro! We will go to Varini's school in the Corso if you like. The woman in the newspaper kiosk in the Piazza di Spagna knows me, and I can leave Pasquina with her. An'iamo!"
It was getting late, and a fading light filtered through the bare interwoven branches of the planes. The shadows were lengthening in the avenues and grass-bordered paths where the seminarists had been walking in twos and threes among the playing children. They were gone now, the grave-faced young men in their black soutanes and broad beaver hats; all the people were gone. "O Pasquina! Birichina!"
Have you been to the Andreoni gallery? There is a statuette of me there called 'Morning. This is the pose." She clasped her hands together behind her head, raising her chin a little. Olive observed the smooth long throat, the exquisite lines of the shoulders and breast and hips. Pasquina slipped off her mother's knees. "Are you well paid?" "It depends on the artist.
Olive, turning her head, saw a young woman and a child coming towards her. The little thing was clinging to its mother's skirts, stumbling at every step, whining to be taken up, and now she dropped the white rabbit muff and the doll she was carrying into a puddle. "O Pasquina!"
She wore a man's tweed coat and a striped blanket wrapped about her, and she was smoking a cigarette. "So you have come back to work here. Your signorino at the Villa Medici is away?" "Only for a few days. He will not be gone long. The picture is not finished. How is Pasquina?" Rosina had come over to her and was fastening the hooks of her bodice. "She is very well. How pretty you are."
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