“It was nearly a year since Trotti had been back to the lake, and he found himself excited just at the thought of seeing it again. Lights had come on along the lakeside and were reflected in the rippleless water. To the north, the pre-Alps and Monte Baldo were lost in the failing light. As the Audi followed the long line of cypress trees, Trotti saw a motor launch making its steady way towards Sirmione. Garda. Self-pity, perhaps, or just the sense that he was growing old while Lake Garda remaine...d unchanged, timeless. Whatever the reason, Trotti resented the pang of sharp regret that rose in his throat with an almost physical reality. For a moment he was tempted to tell Signora Bianchini to turn the car around, to take them to Gardesana and the Villa Ondina. They would sit on the wooden pontoon and look out over the water at the shadow of Monte Baldo. And he would feel—for a moment, or for an evening—that he, too, like the lake, was untouched by time. Trotti wanted to say something but then it was too late and they were entering the outskirts of Verona.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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