see about one for you?”
I was satisfied with that and asked where I could find her again? Where did she live? She would not tell me. I should find her in one place or another if I looked.
“Mayn’t I invite you somewhere?”
“Where?”
“Where and when you like.”
“Good. Tuesday for dinner at the old Franciscan. First floor. Goodbye.”
She gave me her hand. I noticed for the first time how well it matched her voice—a beautiful hand, firm and intelligent and good-natured. She laughed at me when I kissed it.
Then at the last moment she turned once more and said: “I’ll tell you something else—about Goethe. What you felt about him and finding the picture of him more than you could put up with, I often feel about the saints.”