CHE TI DICE LA PATRIA?
“Well,” I said, “they drowned Shelley somewhere along here.”
“That was down by Viareggio,” Guy said. “Do you remember what we came to this country for?”
“Yes,” I said, “but we didn’t get it.”
“We’ll be out of it to-night.”
“If we can get past Ventimiglia.”
“We’ll see. I don’t like to drive this coast at night.” It was early afternoon and the sun was out. Below, the sea was blue with whitecaps running toward Savona. Back, beyond the cape, the brown and blue waters joined. Out ahead of us, a tramp steamer was going up the coast.
“Can you still see Genoa?” Guy asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“That next big cape ought to put it out of sight.”
“We’ll see it a long time yet. I can still see Portofino Cape behind it.”
Finally we could not see Genoa. I looked back as we came out and there was only the sea, and below in the bay, a line of beach with fishing-boats and above, on the side of the hill, a town and then capes far down the coast.
“It’s gone now,” I said to Guy.
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