“Piero didn't share his friends' fears and doubts: he stayed there, silent and focused, rehearsing in his mind the verses that he was to recite that evening; and every now and then, almost tasting them on his tongue, he turned proudly and confidently toward one member of the group or another, and it seemed to him that the sun itself was about to turn to embrace them and to cradle them sweetly, as if it wished to anoint their limbs for the battles that they would soon have to wage. At that moment, Angela seemed to him to resemble a Greek goddess, of war and of beauty combined, with her penetrating eyes and her keen mind fixed on the deceptive calm of the seascape. And then it seemed to him that the sea itself fell into submission and drew back its waves before the imposing gaze of Barbara and the aggressive countenance of Alessandro who, standing statue-like, was throwing stones at it, in a kind of challenge, making them ricochet over its rippled surface. There, even Sergio was taciturn, like a warrior preparing for combat: for a moment, he forgot the apparent superficiality and carelessness behind which he usually hid.”