7.
The lake was gloomy.
The shore hit by the wind had a silvery color, while the rest of the surface was of an intense blue, interspersed only here and there by the white foam of some small wave. There was no sun that morning, at least as far as the eye could see, and the air was fresh. Greta got on the bus as she did every morning for years. The bus was bustling with students like every morning, but that morning that situation, even without her will, caused her sadness: sadness of not knowing if one day she would ever return.
He had greeted Giacomo with a few words, making sure that he delivered her letter to Ernesto as soon as he returned from fishing. That elderly man had given her advice, had helped her as if she had been the daughter he had so longed for.
Once in Viterbo she got
