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She ate with much nicety, opening her mouth so little that she could put no more than the tip of her spoon between her lips; with her children she talked English and Italian in equal perfection, and when she heard young Carminatti's facetious remarks she laughed with marked impudence.
"They have decided to go and play in Carminatti's room without telling you." "I'm glad of it." "Do you know, bambino, I have to go away for a few days." "Where?" "To Naples. Come with me." "No; I have things to do here. I will take you to the station." "Ah, you rascal! You are a Don Juan." "No, dear sister. I am a financier." "I can see your victims from here. But I shall put them on their guard.
The Neapolitan was one of those most preoccupied with esthetics. Caesar had a room opposite Signor Carminatti's, and the first few days he had thought it was a woman's room. Toilet flasks, sprays, boxes of powder; the room looked like a perfumery shop. "It is curious," Caesar used to think, "how these people from famous historic towns can combine powder and the maffia, opoponax and daggers."
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