Turin, Italy

Maybe the weather had been bad in Turin, maybe Morini had dreamed who knows what kind of horrible dream the night before.

In his message Morini talked about the weather, as if he had nothing better to say, about the slanting rain that had begun to fall on Turin at eight and hadn’t stopped until one in the morning.

and of some Turin editors she had just met, one old and very jovial who always referred to Bubis as his brother-in-arms.