Forty days, they told me—quaranta giorni—but I think it was more. Sixty? Seventy-five? No matter. It's over now. During my solitude, my bedroom quickly became a dark, fusty, unwelcoming place, so I slept on my balcony most nights, in spite of the cold, my down comforter and flannel pajamas wrapped tightly around me, the slender … Continue reading Giuseppe Pellizza, Il Sole, 1904