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"
No
.
It
’
s
fine
.
"
"
I
’
ll
fix
those
sandbags
better
.
"
She
leaned
over
.
"
I
’
m
your
friend
.
"
"
I
know
you
are
.
"
"
No
you
don
’
t
.
But
you
will
some
day
.
"
Catherine
Barkley
took
three
nights
off
night
duty
and
then
she
came
back
on
again
.
It
was
as
though
we
met
again
after
each
of
us
had
been
away
on
a
long
journey
.
We
had
a
lovely
time
that
summer
.
When
I
could
go
out
we
rode
in
a
carriage
in
the
park
.
I
remember
the
carriage
,
the
horse
going
slowly
,
and
up
ahead
the
back
of
the
driver
with
his
varnished
high
hat
,
and
Catherine
Barkley
sitting
beside
me
.
If
we
let
our
hands
touch
,
just
the
side
of
my
hand
touching
hers
,
we
were
excited
.
Afterward
when
I
could
get
around
on
crutches
we
went
to
dinner
at
Biffi
’
s
or
the
Gran
Italia
and
sat
at
the
tables
outside
on
the
floor
of
the
galleria
.
The
waiters
came
in
and
out
and
there
were
people
going
by
and
candles
with
shades
on
the
tablecloths
and
after
we
decided
that
we
liked
the
Gran
Italia
best
,
George
,
the
headwaiter
,
saved
us
a
table
.
He
was
a
fine
waiter
and
we
let
him
order
the
meal
while
we
looked
at
the
people
,
and
the
great
galleria
in
the
dusk
,
and
each
other
.
We
drank
dry
white
capri
iced
in
a
bucket
;
although
we
tried
many
of
the
other
wines
,
fresa
,
barbera
and
the
sweet
white
wines
.
They
had
no
wine
waiter
because
of
the
war
and
George
would
smile
ashamedly
when
I
asked
about
wines
like
fresa
.
"
If
you
imagine
a
country
that
makes
a
wine
because
it
tastes
like
strawberries
,
"
he
said
.
"
Why
shouldn
’
t
it
?
"
Catherine
asked
.
"
It
sounds
splendid
.
"
"
You
try
it
,
lady
,
"
said
George
,
"
if
you
want
to
.
But
let
me
bring
a
little
bottle
of
margaux
for
the
Tenente
.
"
"
I
’
ll
try
it
too
,
George
.
"
