Barbara Occhiveri, with her limping gait and her melancholy air, approached Angela from behind.
“He'll get over it, don't worry,” she told her.
“It's not just him,” Angela vented politely. “I confess that I've also been uneasy lately, and I'm not sleeping well. Last night, I had that dream again, too…on the open sea…with that butterfly flying around me…You and Sergio are taking this too far. Everyone misses Tommaso terribly. But you're making us feel guilty and have strange thoughts…Instead of helping us to forget, you're making us dream about him and mourn for him more and more. In the end, Marco's right to avoid us now. I can't blame him.”
Barbara didn't like talking very much. Her personal misfortune had made her attentive, introspective, and silent. Most of all, she never talked or argued when she didn't think that there was an important enough reason to do so, or when she didn't think that it would be productive. And when people are