He paid his reckoning, and,
lounging out of the house, sauntered away down
the narrow street. The Gadfly, yawning and
stretching, lifted himself up and sleepily rubbed
the sleeve of his linen blouse across his eyes.
"Pretty sharp practice that," he said, pulling
a clasp-knife out of his pocket and cutting off a
chunk from the rye-loaf on the table. "Have
they been worrying you much lately, Michele?"
"They've been worse than mosquitos in August.
There's no getting a minute's peace; wherever
one goes, there's always a spy hanging about.
Even right up in the hills, where they used to be
so shy about venturing, they have taken to coming
in bands of three or four--haven't they, Gino?
That's why we arranged for you to meet Domenichino
in the town."
"Yes; but why Brisighella? A frontier town
is always full of spies."
"Brisighella just now is a capital place. It's
swarming with pilgrims from all parts of the country."
"But it's not on the way to anywhere."
"It's not far out of the way to Rome, and many
of the Easter Pilgrims are going round to hear
Mass there.
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