Chapter 18

           Wehadalovelytimethatsummer.WhenIcouldgooutwerodeinacarriageinthepark.Irememberthecarriage,thehorsegoingslowly,andupaheadthebackofthedriverwithhisvarnishedhighhat,andCatherineBarkleysittingbesideme.Ifweletourhandstouch,justthesideofmyhandtouchinghers,wewereexcited.AfterwardwhenIcouldgetaroundoncrutcheswewenttodinneratBiffi’sortheGranItaliaandsatatthetablesoutsideonthefloorofthegalleria.ThewaiterscameinandoutandtherewerepeoplegoingbyandcandleswithshadesonthetableclothsandafterwedecidedthatwelikedtheGranItaliabest,George,theheadwaiter,savedusatable.Hewasafinewaiterandwelethimorderthemealwhilewelookedatthepeople,andthegreatgalleriainthedusk,andeachother.Wedrankdrywhitecapriicedinabucket;althoughwetriedmanyoftheotherwines,fresa,barberaandthesweetwhitewines.TheyhadnowinewaiterbecauseofthewarandGeorgewouldsmileashamedlywhenIaskedaboutwineslikefresa.

           "Ifyouimagineacountrythatmakesawinebecauseittasteslikestrawberries,"hesaid.

           "Whyshouldn’tit?"Catherineasked."Itsoundssplendid."

           "Youtryit,lady,"saidGeorge,"ifyouwantto.ButletmebringalittlebottleofmargauxfortheTenente."

           "I’lltryittoo,George."

           "Sir,Ican’trecommendyouto.Itdoesn’teventastelikestrawberries."

           "Itmight,"saidCatherine."Itwouldbewonderfulifitdid."