She wanted breakfast. So did I and we had it in bed, the November sunlight coming in the window, and the breakfast tray across my lap.
“Don’t you want the paper? You always wanted the paper in the hospital.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want the paper now.”
“Was it so bad you don’t want even to read about it?”
“I don’t want to read about it.”
“I wish I had been with you so I would know about it too.”
“I’ll tell you about it if I ever get it straight in my head.”
“But won’t they arrest you if they catch you out of uniform?”
“They’ll probably shoot me.”
“Then we’ll not stay here. We’ll get out of the country.”
“I’d thought something of that.”
“We’ll get out. Darling, you shouldn’t take silly chances. Tell me how did you come from Mestre to Milan?”
“I came on the train. I was in uniform then.”
“Weren’t you in danger then?”
“Not much. I had an old order of movement. I fixed the dates on it in Mestre.”
“Darling, you’re liable to be arrested here any time. I won’t have it. It’s silly to do something like that. Where would we be if they took you off?”