tell,” I
said.
“I’ve led
a quiet
life.”
“You act
like a
married
man,” he
said.
“What’s
the matter
with you?”
“Nothing,”
I said.
“What’s
the matter
with you?”
“This war
is killing
me,”
Rinaldi
said, “I
am very
depressed
by it.” He
folded his
hands over
his knee.
“Oh,” I
said.
“What’s
the
matter?
Can’t I
even have
human
impulses?”
“No. I can
see you’ve
been
having a
fine time.
Tell me.”
“All
summer and
all fall
I’ve
operated.
I work all
