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Updated: June 17, 2025
Vere would not let Ruffo know when a cigarette was coming, but kept him on the alert, pretending, holding it poised above him between his finger and thumb until even his eyes blinked from gazing upward; then dropping it when she thought he was unprepared, or throwing it like a missile. But she soon knew that she had found her match in the boy.
I believe you like him very much. Don't you?" "Signora, Ruffo has never done me any harm." "Ruffo is very fond of you." She saw Gaspare redden. "He respects and admires you more than other people. I have noticed that." Gaspare cleared his throat but did not look up or make any remark. "Both the Signorina and I like Ruffo, too. We feel at least I feel I feel as if he had become one of the family."
Two dreary hours she spent in Naples. The buzzing city affected her like a nightmare. Coming back through Mergellina, she eagerly looked for Ruffo. But she did not see him. Nor had she seen him in the early morning, when she passed by the harbor where the yachts were lying in the sun. Gaspare came with the boat to take her over from the nearest village to the island.
By this time of night, no doubt, Ruffo was in his home at the Mergellina, sitting in the midst of his family, or was strolling with lively companions of his own age, or, perhaps, was fast asleep in bed. Vere felt that it would be horrible to go to bed on such a night, to shut herself in from the moon and the sea. The fishermen who slept in the shelter of the Saint's Pool were enviable.
You mean Ruffo Scarla, who fishes with Giuseppe Mandano Giuseppe, Signore?" "It may be. A young fellow, a Sicilian by birth, I believe." "Il Siciliano! Si, Signore. We call him that, but he has never been in Sicily, and was born in America." "That's the boy." "Do you want him, Signore? But he is not here to-day. He is at sea to-day." "I did want to speak to him."
It had been meant, perhaps for centuries, that they two should stand together that night, speak together as now they were about to speak. "Signora, buona sera." "Buona sera, Ruffo." "The Signorina is not here to-night?" "I think she is in the house. I think she is tired to-night." "The Signorina is tired after the Festa, Signora." "You knew we were at the Festa, Ruffo?" "Ma si, Signora."
Ruffo's boat was no doubt among them. There was one only a few hundred yards beyond the rocks from which Vere sometimes bathed. Perhaps that was his. Ruffo's boat! Ruffo! She put her elbows on the sill of the window and rested her face in her hands. Her eyes felt very dry, like sand she thought, and her mind felt dry too, as if insomnia was withering it up.
She was a widow before she was a mother; may the Madonna comfort her. My mamma spoke just like that, Signorina. And then she cried for a long time. But when Patrigno came in she stopped crying at once." "Did she? Why was that?" "I don't know, Signorina." Vere was silent for a moment. Then she said: "Is your Patrigno kind to you, Ruffo?" The boy looked at her, then swiftly looked away.
On the 22d of June Ruffo wrote to Foote that there were no vessels in Naples on which to embark the revolutionists, and requested him to furnish them; a request that Foote referred to Count Thurn, the senior Neapolitan naval officer, for compliance.
She would ask the fishermen. Or perhaps she would come across Ruffo. Probably he had gone home by this time from the fishing. Quickly, energetically she got ready. Just before she left her room she saw Vere pass slowly by upon the sea, rowing a little way out alone, as she often did in the calm summer weather.
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