She was sitting between Guido Guide and Beppo Roadsweeper on the grass-grown steps of the ruined amphitheater, watching the sun go down.
“Yes,” Guido said pensively, “it's the same with me. Fewer and fewer people listen to my stories. It isn't like it used to be. Something's wrong.”
“But what?” said Momo. Guido shrugged, spat on the slate he'd been writing on and thoughtfully rubbed the letters out.
Beppo had found the slate in a garbage can some weeks before and presented it to Momo.
It wasn't a new one, of course, and it had a big crack down the middle, but it was quite usable all the same.
Guido had been teaching Momo her alphabet ever since.
Momo had a very good memory, so she could already read quite well, though her writing was coming on more slowly.
Beppo, who had been pondering Momo's question, nodded and said, “You're right, it's closing in - it's the same all over the city.”
I've noticed it for quite a time.“Noticed what?” asked Momo. Beppo thought a while.
Then he said, “Nothing good.” There was another pause before he added, “It's getting cold.”
“Never mind,” said Guido, putting his arm consolingly around Momo's shoulders, “more and more children come here, anyway.”
“Exactly,” said Beppo, “that's just it.” “What do you mean?” Momo asked. Beppo thought for a long time before replying.
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