A Creepy Story for October!
The evening before we made the expedition to Podolo we talked it over, and I agreed there was nothing against it really.
‘But why did you say you’d feel safer if Walter was going too?’ Angela asked me. And Walter said, ‘What good should I be? I can’t help to row the gondola, you know.’
Then I felt rather silly, for everything I had said about Podolo was merely conversational exaggeration, meant to whet their curiosity, like a newspaper headline: and I knew that when Angela actually saw the dull little island, its stony and inhospitable shore littered with broken bottles and empty tins, she would think what a fool I was, with my romancing. So I took back everything I said, called my own bluff, as it were, and explained that I avoided Podolo only because of its exposed position: it was four miles from Venice, and if…
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