[...] Everything that struck me — my studies, books, Franco, Pietro, the children, Nino, the earthquake — would pass, and I, whatever I among those I was accumulating, I would remain firm, I was the needle of the compass that stays fixed while the lead traces circles around it. Lila on the other hand — it seemed clear to me now, and it made me proud, it calmed me, touched me — struggled to feel stable. She couldn’t, she didn’t believe it. However much she had always dominated all of us and had imposed and was still imposing a way of being, on pain of her resentment and her fury, she perceived herself as a liquid and all her efforts were, in the end, directed only at containing herself. When, in spite of her defensive manipulation of persons and things, the liquid prevailed, Lila lost Lila, chaos seemed the only truth, and she — so active, so courageous — erased herself and, terrified, became nothing.