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104 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1957
She sat on my bed in a new dressing-gown of flaming red silk, her hair in a net and her face smothered with a cream as thick as butter, and told me about her projects. She had any number of projects. She had enough and to spare for the parish poor. This was an expression she often used.

There were days when my mother was almost as bored in town as she had been in Dronero. She already knew the central shopping district like the back of her hand, having walked the length and breadth of it looking for suitable premises, small but attractive, for her art gallery; but the rents were all extremely high and, besides; another problem was beginning to occur to her, that of finding painters willing to show in her gallery. She knew nobody.
My mother was now anxious to talk about her gallery project but was unable to get a word in edgeways because Signora Fontana never stopped chattering for an instant.