Posso chiedere. Questo libro che leggi tutti i giorni? she went on as she sat down.
He looked up again, back to the folio on the table in front of him, gave it a half turn so it was facing her and slid it toward the middle of the table. It was a facsimile of something very old, reproduced at scale perhaps. Open to her on the left was a long paragraph of Italian printed with movable type. La cosa dolce, read the heading. But she turned from it before reading further to view the engraving on the facing page. After a moment she looked at him again across the table, showed the young man the blankest face she could contrive, and slid the volume back to him.