In all the south of Italy, money is the one subject of men's thoughts; intellectual life does not exist; there is little even of what we should call common education.

Those who have wealth cling to it fiercely; the majority have neither time nor inclination to occupy themselves with anything but the earning of a livelihood which for multitudes signifies the bare appeasing of hunger.
Seeing the Sindaco's embarrassment, his portly friend began to question me; good-humouredly enough, but in such a fat bubbling voice (made more indistinct by the cigar he kept in his mouth) that with difficulty I understood him.

What was I doing at Cotrone?
I endeavoured to explain that Cotrone greatly interested me.

Ha! Cotrone interested me?
Really?
Now what did I find interesting at Cotrone?
I spoke of historic associations.

The Sindaco and his friend exchanged glances, smiled in a puzzled, tolerant, half-pitying way, and decided that my request might be granted.