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- I40 -

Stone-like it reflects no cryptic signs. Life the departing guest did not turn to smile to leave behind an illusive afterglow. I shall try to forget this my last view of Y.; to remember her as she was wont to stand on her garden steps smiling down on us her au revoir.

January 7th  No sooner did the war seem over in Florence, no sooner did we begin to breathe freely again, than we were jerked back incontinently to face another quite different phase of this war. Yesterday a Mr. J. arrived in a car and sent up word that as an agent of the British Intelligence Corps he must see me at once about something of importance. I was in bed writing, but Mr. J., a tall Britisher of the detective type, was brought up and for over half an hour sat by my bedside with blue ferret eyes glued upon mine. Never had I undergone such a stare. Doubtless the serpent uses just such eye-tactic on a bird, but being no bird I can use my eyes in retaliation and outstare anyone and what is more, by so doing can sense what my interlocutor may be thinking about. Now Mr. J. had certainly ulterior motives hiding under the easy flow of conversation which at first led to his recounting those incidents connected with his calling: the eighty-five per cent of the spies in Italy caught by him, the hair-breadth escapes; the pistol grabbed at just in time; and the lady spy caught sending out messages to the enemy and then when detected offering to send them false reports in order to save herself. 'What did you do then?' I asked perfunctorily.