Then they would be bound to search for me, and convent vows and
Tiber mud hold one fast. No, I won't, I'll go and sit in the Pincian
gardens and talk Italian with the very first person I meet and forget
all about myself. I wish Mr. Mann wouldn't pity me. Dear me, here I am
remembering these forlorn people again. I wish I could see mamma and
home this morning,--the dear old library. Why the house is shut up and
mamma's south. I forgot that, and here am I all alone. It is like being
dead. There, I have dropped a tear on my tie and spoiled it! Besides, if
one is dead, there comes Heaven. Why shouldn't I play dead, and make my
own Heaven?" Here Mae seated herself, for she was on the Pincio by this
time, and looked off at the view, at that wonderful view of St. Peter's,
the Tiber, all the domes and rising ruins and afar the campagna. "I
wouldn't make my Heaven here," thought this dreadful Mae, "not if it is
beautiful. I'd not stay here a single other day. Bah no!" and she shook
her irreverent little fist right down at the Eternal City.
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