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It’s very difficult to talk to Riccardo about Mirella: when they’re together they’re like enemies. Maybe it’s always been that way, but until now I thought it was petty sibling spite. Now I’m afraid there’s some other reason, more profound, that I can’t define, and that grieves me deeply. I don’t w…

I went to the kitchen and started frying the potatoes, then the eggs. I think Mirella was lying, and in any case, if she destroyed the diary, she did it after meeting Cantoni. Soon she joined me and asked if I needed help. She rarely offers, so I looked at her with amazement. She’s really a pretty …

Suddenly, I thought that I, too, hide a notebook, and that Mirella, looking for a hiding place for hers, might find it. If she read it, she would discover that I am different from what she thinks. She would know all my secrets, would know about the director, also of the appointment I agreed to for …

[...] Today, for example, I was sorry I’d gone to the office and wasted time doing nothing: the kitchen still had to be cleaned up and Michele needs some shirts that these past evenings, in order to write, I didn’t iron. Sometimes, in a happy state of intoxication, I imagine giving in to disorder: …

I thought that for Michele and me it would be different. We were young: just married, we would leave for Venice, we’d have a big room on the Grand Canal. My mother often said she’d had to fight with her parents for a long time in order to marry my father; she had decided to run away with him, if th…