And now she was sitting on the terrace of a café in Venzone, a cappuccino on the table in front of her, beside her laptop which she opened again. For the first time in a long, long while, she felt that the world was wide open to her again. Except this time, she didn’t need drugs. She had Giancarlo, and she had her novel. She felt something propelling her to continue writing. In an impassioned mood, spiritual bliss was engulfing her again… the same one she had not felt for seventeen years.
“I understand,” Dóra smiled sympathetically at the English woman, who was clearly at her wit’s end. “Please describe what the snake looked like.”
“It was this thick,” she said, gesturing towards her hefty upper arm which was sunburned lobster-red, along with her face and neck too. Dóra suspected that sh
