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sure she understood. 

February 10th.
The "grande artista' killed by bombings of her villa the day before yesterday was no other than Lina Cavalieri of world fame. She had left an agitated Rome to find quiet in Florence and then when Florence was bombed she sought safety on one of the surrounding hills. Our postman was about to deliver letters at her villa when seeing the bombs fall he threw himself flat on the ground just in time. His fingers were badly hurt but he went on to where a few minutes before had stood a peasant's house and there amid the ruins a child with its face half blown away crying out for its mother lying dead at its side. A nude baby still alive had been blown into the fields beyond, its swaddling-clothes dangling from the bushes. 

February 13th.
Yesterday I passed the ruins of Linda Cavalieri's house. The bomb that struck the villa yesterday had had, it would seem, a decided will of its own, for never did a bomb aim with such precision while leaving intact all else close-by. The next-door villa was standing up undamaged save for some broken window-panes. Stones, dust, a broken chair, a split mattress, bits of colored rags hanging here and there over the crater are all that remains to remind us of the once famous and beautiful Lina Cavalieri.

February 17th.
Bombings again to-day and near enough to send us all down to the refuge. Since the bombing is without any military objective and at so short a distance from here, we feel that