And suddenly there is Cagliari: a naked town rising steep, steep, golden-looking, piled naked to the sky from the plain at the head of the formless hollow bay.
I knew it was Trapani, the western port of Sicily, under the western sun.
…then Etna, that wicked witch, resting her thick white snow under heaven, and slowly, slowly rolling her orange-coloured smoke.
There is nothing to do in Mandas. So we will take the morning train and go to the terminus, to Sorgono.
Tonara! Ah, Tonara is a fine place.
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