Then Paolo sent Giovanni to see the drunken one safely past the
landslip, which was dangerous. Altogether it was an unsatisfactory
business, very much like any other such party in any other country.
Then in the evening Il Duro came in. His name is Faustino, but everybody
in the village has a nickname, which is almost invariably used. He came
in and asked for supper. We had all eaten. So he ate a little food alone
at the table, whilst we sat round the fire.
Afterwards we played 'Up, Jenkins'. That was the one game we played with
the peasants, except that exciting one of theirs, which consists in
shouting in rapid succession your guesses at the number of fingers
rapidly spread out and shut into the hands again upon the table.
Il Duro joined in the game. And that was because he had been in America,
and now was rich. He felt he could come near to the strange signori. But
he was always inscrutable.
It was queer to look at the hands spread on the table: the Englishwomen,
having rings on their soft fingers; the large fresh hands of the elder
boy, the brown paws of the younger; Paolo's distorted great hard hands
of a peasant; and the big, dark brown, animal, shapely hands
of Faustino.
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