rant a little way up the street from the hospital for supper and read my letters and the Corriere Della Sera at the table。 There was a letter from my grandfather； containing family news； patriotic encouragement； a draft for two hundred dollars； and a few clippings； a dull letter from the priest at our mess； a letter from a man I knew who was flying with the French and had gotten in with a wild gang and was telling about it； and a note from Rinaldi asking me how long I was going to skulk in Milano and what was all the news？ He wanted me to bring him phonograph records and enclosed a list。 I drank a small bottle of chianti with the meal； had a coffee afterward with a glass of cognac； finished the paper； put my letters in my pocket； left the paper on the table with the tip and went out。 In my room at the hospital I undressed； put on pajamas and a dressing…gown； pulled down the curtains on the door that opened onto the balcony and sitting up