Again and again, drinking in the strangeness and the fearsomeness of the world from her lips, I had heard her state that if one offended an Italian, no matter how slightly and unintentionally, he was certain to retaliate by stabbing one in the back.

That was her particular phrase--"stab you in the back." Now, although I had been eager to see Black Matt kill Tom Morrisey that morning, I did not care to furnish to the dancers the spectacle of a knife sticking in my back.

I had not yet learned to distinguish between facts and theories.

My faith was implicit in my mother's exposition of the Italian character.

Besides, I had some glimmering inkling of the sacredness of hospitality.