android 2.2 phones As he shaved and, after that, too

Joe, washing his face, said, Cairo.
What an exotic name, she thought with envy. And then she felt herself flush. I'm really stupid, she said. An Italian, thirty-four years old, from the Nazi part of the world. . . he had been in the war, all right. But on the Axis side. And he had fought at Cairo; the tattoo was their bond, the German and Italian veterans of that campaign -- the defeat of the British and Australian army under General Gott at the hands of Rommel and his Afrika Korps.
She left the bathroom, returned to the living room and began making the bed; her hands flew.
In a neat stack on the chair lay Joe's possessions, clothes and small suitcase, personal articles. Among them she noticed a velvet-covered box, a little like a glasses' case; picking it up, she opened it and peeked inside.
You certainly did fight at Cairo, she thought as she gazed down at the Iron Cross Second Class with the word and the date -- June 10, 1945 -- engraved at its top. They didn't all get this; only the valiant ones. I wonder what you did. . . you were only seventeen years old, then.
Joe appeared at the door of the bathroom just as she lifted the medal from its velvet box; she became aware of him and jumped guiltily. But he did not seem angry.
I was just looking at it, Juliana said. I've never seen one before. Did Rommel pin it on you himself?
General Bayerlain gave them out. Rommel had already been transferred to England, to finish up there. His voice was calm. But his hand once more had begun the monotonous pawing at his forehead, fingers digging into his scalp in that combing motion which seemed to be a chronic nervous tic.
Would you tell me about it? Juliana asked, as he returned to the bathroom and his shaving.
As he shaved and, after that, took a long hot shower, Joe Cinnadella told her a little; nothing like the sort of account she would have liked to hear. His two older brothers had served in the Ethiopian campaign, while he, at thirteen had been in a Fascist youth organization in Milan, telephone android 2.2
android 2.2 phoneshis home town. Later, his brothers had joined a crack artillery battery, that of Major Ricardo Pardi, and when World War Two began, Joe had been able to join them. They had fought under Graziani. Their equipment, especially their tanks, had been dreadful. The British had shot them down, even senior officers, like rabbits. Doors of the tanks had to be held shut with sandbags during battle, to keep them from flying open. Major Pardi, however, had reclaimed discarded artillery shells, polished and greased them, and fired them; his battery had halted General Wavell's great desperate tank advanced in '43.
Are your brothers still alive? Juliana asked.
His brothers had been killed in '44, strangled with wire by British commandos, the Long Range Desert Group which had operated behind Axis lines and which had become especially fanatic during the last phases of the war when it was clear that the Allies could not win.
How do you feel about the British now? she asked haltingly.
Joe said, I'd like to see them do to England what they did in Africa. His tone was flat.
But it's been -- eighteen years, Juliana said. I know the British especially did terrible things. But --
They talk about the things the Nazis did to the Jews, Joe said. The British have done worse. In the Battle of London. He became silent. Those fire weapons, phosphorus and oil; I saw a few of the German troops, afterward. Boat after boat burned to a cinder. Those pipes under the water -- turned the sea to fire. And on civilian populations, by those mass fire-bombing raids that Churchill thought were going to save the war at the last moment. Those terror attacks on Hamburg and Essen and --