many impressions to seize and hold, familiar loved facades, balconies, windows, water lapping the cellar steps of decaying palaces, the little red house where D'Annunzio lived, with its garden--our house, Laura called it, pretending it was theirs--and too soon the ferry would be turning left on the direct route to the Piazzale Roma, so missing the best of the Canal, the Rialto, the further palaces.