“Look,” he said, “isn’t Rome lovely? The bells ring, the swallows rush about, the saints look down and the fountains play.”
“And in the Villa Giulia the Etruscans smile.”
“And the gardens smell of jasmine. Isn’t Rome lovely?”
“Lovely!” she agreed. “But all the same, strange things can happen under her skin.”
“And always have,” said Barnaby.
The End