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Ernest Hemingway

ACROSS THE RIVER AND INTO THE TREES
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CHAPTER XXVII

UPSTAIRS the room was already done and the Colonel, who had anticipated a possible messiness of locale, was pleased.

“Stand by it once,” he said. Then remembered to add, “Please.”

She stood by it, and he looked at it from where he had looked at it last night.

“There’s no comparison, of course,” he said. “I don’t mean likeness. The likeness is excellent.”

“Was there supposed to be a comparison?” the girl asked, and swung her head back and stood there with the black sweater of the portrait.

“Of course not. But last night, and at first light, I talked to the portrait as though it were you.”

“That was nice of you and shows it has served some useful purpose.”

They were lying now on the bed and the girl said to him, “Don’t you ever close windows?”

“No. Do you?”

“Only when it rains.”

“How much alike are we?”

“I don’t know. We never had much of a chance to find out.”

“We’ve never had a fair chance. But we’ve had enough of a chance for me to know.”

“And when you know what the hell have you got?” the Colonel asked.

“I don’t know. Something better than there is, I sup­pose.”

“Sure. We ought to try for that. I don’t believe in lim­ited objectives. Sometimes you’re forced to, though.”

“What is your great sorrow?”

“Other people’s orders,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“You.”

“I don’t want to be a sorrow. I’ve been a sorry son of a bitch many times. But I never was anybody’s sorrow.”

“Well you are mine now.”

“All right,” he said. “We’ll take it that way.”

“You’re nice to take it that way. You’re very kind this morning. I’m so ashamed about how things are. Please hold me very close and let’s not talk, or think, about how things might have been different.”

“Daughter, that’s one of the few things I know how to do.”

“You know many, many things. Don’t say such a thing.”

“Sure,” the Colonel said. “I know how to fight for­wards and how to fight backwards and what else?”

“About pictures and about books and about life.”

“That’s easy. You just look at the pictures without prejudice, and you read the books with as open a mind as you have, and you live life.”

“Don’t take off your tunic, please.”

“All right.”

“You do anything when I say please.”

“I have done things without.”

“Not very often.”

“No,” the Colonel agreed. “Please is a pretty word.”

“Please, please, please.”

Per piacere. It means for pleasure. I wish we always talked Italian.”

“We could in the dark. Although there are things that say better in English.

“I love you my last true and only love,” she quoted. “When lilacs last in the door-yard bloomed. And out of the cradle endlessly rocking. And come and get it, you sons of bitches, or I’ll throw it away. You don’t want those in other languages do you, Richard?”

“No.”

“Kiss me again, please.”

“Unnecessary please.”

“I would probably end up as an unnecessary please myself. That is the good thing about you going to die that you can’t leave me.”

“That’s a little rough,” the Colonel said. “Watch your (...)

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