Then I read a chapter of Wilson and another half-dozen pages of Orlando, only to be interrupted by the phone.“Entomology, Hollister.”“This is La...ra Betti. How are you?”“I’m fine. I’ve a copy of Orlando Furioso on my desk and have read most of the first Canto.”“I’m amazed. In English, I assume.”“Yes. A sixteenth century translation reprinted by an American university press.”“Oh. That’s Harington. He’s far from accurate and he cut thousands of Ariosto’s lines. But he tells a fine story in English. His ribs and face are pretty sore." Thank you," I said curtly. Inside, I was beginning to get angry and I knew I shouldn't take it out on the nurse.Bill came out of the examination room and one look at him told me he wasn't feeling very good. His face had a couple of dark bruises and one eye was almost closed shut. He was moving very carefully and I suspected that was because of the ribs."Hi, Bill. Let's get you home," I said, almost afraid to touch him. One look at Debbie told me she was very. More

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