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after everyone else because when running down the stairs some of my clothing caught on the sharp edges of the iron-wrought rose which with other iron spikes from the ornamental railings of the stair-case. And what railings! I tried to rid myself of them when a forced collection was made of copper and iron but they were refused as being a "work of art' It took some minutes before I could disengage myself from this jungle of iron spikes. When the war ends and if the house is still mine, I shall have this horror replaced by a plain combined stairs and banisters of grey Tuscan stone. 
In the afternoon we kept and appointment with the Countess. It was evident that she and D.di D. no longer belonged to become artists. D.di D. showed me his new paint-box, the last one in the shop, a wonder containing everything needed to paint with. It costs some nine hundred lire. I have never possessed such a box. He had placed it upon a polished table upon which stood a small ornamental oak easel. An Easy chair was drawn to the table and the room was warm and sunny. D.di D. was about to copy a coloured print: a young woman with red hair by Greuze. Would he be able to do it? - he asked anxiously - and added that he had been shown how to mix his colours by the furniture man who painted the flowers on the wardrobe and chairs in his bed-room. He was most excited about it all and no less excited was the Countess who showed some cats she had drawn with all but human faces. Did I like them? Yes, I replied, if they are 'voulus'. I am not