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His clothing marked him as Italian. The cadence of his speech announced that he was Venetian. His eyes were all policeman.
Santore was known to be homosexual, but in the theatrical world where a mixed marriage was one between a man and a woman, his personal life had never served as an impediment to his success.
He muttered the ritual ‘Permesso’ without which an Italian could never enter another person’s house.
‘I want to see how many different ways the same lies can be told.’
Even if exile is spent in the most beautiful city in the world, Brunetti realized, it is still exile.
‘I feel myself reborn,’ she cried, whereupon, this being opera, she promptly collapsed and died.
Hence, to avoid oppressing, he would refuse to get an education, and to avoid being oppressed, he would refuse to get a job. Brunetti found the simplicity of Raffaele’s reasoning absolutely Jesuitical.
‘Guido, you’ve been a policeman long enough to have learned that as soon as a person reaches a certain level of notoriety, there are no more secrets.’
After all, gossip’s greatest charm was its utter superfluity.
It was no more than human evil and the terrible waste that comes from it.
