One day came news from Italy, all in the newspaper, of my father's friends and old companions shot and murdered by the Austrians.

He read it in the evening, after we had a quiet day.

I thought he did not mind it much, for he read it out to us quite quietly; and then he made me sit on his knee and read it out.

I cried with rage, and he called to me, 'Sandra! Peace!' and began walking up and down the room, while my mother got the bread and cheese and spread it on the table, for we were beginning to be richer.

I saw my father take out his violin.