"Bellodi felt like a convalescent: sensitive, tender, hungry. 'To hell with Sicily, to hell with everything'.
came home around midnight, crossing the whole city on foot. Parma was enchanted snow, silent, deserted. 'In Sicily, snowfalls are rare,' he thought, and that perhaps the nature of civilization was given by the snow or sun, depending on whether snow or sunshine prevailed. There was a bit confused. But before we get home he knew, clearly, to love to Sicily and we would return.
- there I break my head - she said aloud, "
Leonardo Sciascia, 'The Day of the Owl', Einaudi, 1961
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