Romolo Guerrieriʼs 1969 U͟n͟ d͟e͟t͟e͟c͟t͟i͟v͟e: It was all cigarette smoke and cold stares. I kept
watching Belli’s face, trying to guess what he really felt, but maybe that’s the point, men like him don’t say much. I think part of me liked not being told everything. It made me lean in closer.
