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grimy yellow patina was due, they said, to its having been coated with olive oil by Gabriele d'Annunzio himself.
   It was the Signora who had arranged her home, bringing from France a sort of suburban style which invaded even the garden. There was a complete lack of feeling for line or construction, yet this lady can gabble endlessly about the beauty of Florence. Garrulity of any sort is encouraged and listened to with respect in France. The charwoman, the backward child, the half-witted society lady can gabble about everything everyone else is gabbling about. Words and more words pouring out without pause, without being sifted by the brain - in such cases there is no brain.
   This reminds me that d'Annunzio also loved the heterogeneous in his surroundings, but d'Annunzio was a great poet and everything good or bad had some connection with the teeming images generated by his prolific brain. Objects were symbols to him.
   The French suburban style that our Sfollata tranferred into the heart of Florence is now no more. May it never be resuscitated! May it remain merely as an unpleasant memory ! Yet, as I have said, the Professor weeps over the loss of his home: "My wife arranged it herself, she had such good taste; she loved her 'casetta'".
   October 3rd: My maid tells me that carabinieri are stationed in all the big shops to prevent looting; but even these cannot always keep back the crowds; German soldiers are then called in to show their