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- II3 -

stones and hidden boulders. I was lost amid this white desolation, yet memory kept persisting that it was familiar. But where could I have seen it before? Perhaps a nightmare memory was haunting me. Nothing could hark me back to actuality. Fortunately N. had well in hand the ambitious plan she had come down expressly to carry out, and which was nothing less than the getting rid of our peasants by military force.
 
As we stood in the shadow of a column in the great ground-room of the Palazzo Vecchio, uncertain where to turn, N. caught sight of a young, blond woman dressed in khaki and wearing the badge of a military reporter. 'I know her,' exclaimed N., 'she is a friend of friends of mine'. - Let's hide behind the pillar' said I instinctively, hoping to avoid a stranger. - 'Nothing of this kind,' replied N. 'She is a war correspondent and can help us with our peasants.' This seemed to me very far fetched indeed, but the young woman also caught sight of N. and rushing forward she greeted her with 'Why! my poor dear, what are you doing here?' It was indeed a question to ask, for the guns were booming and the shells bursting round about us. N. quickly explained our case; the peasants, three ruffians, menacing us and depriving us of food, and we without protection. Now N.'s acquaintance, Mrs. Ernest Hemingway, was an American woman of the super-efficient variety and what is more she was very good-looking and a friend of our President. She was all for