XXVIII
At dusk a motorcycle climbed, bouncing along the driveway that led to the manor. The palms that flanked the cobblestones were high enough, but not completely grown. The dust seemed to chase the bike and the rider.
The centaur came within the beam still at high speeds, but decelerating and braking the rear wheel, he controlled the next lurch and stopped the vehicle while the dogs ran away barking in all directions. Then he pulled off the helmet and lifted the glasses with his index finger.
“Gentlemen. Good news,” shouted Nino Ventura, descending from the Iso-Rivolta and taking a newspaper from the inside pocket of his corduroy jacket. “We have Tobruk back!”
“Who? What happened?” asked some of the workers who were present.
Meanwhile, the men were closer and formed a circle. There
