The power within: unit 111.

For now, one of two riders, and it was the older of the two, walked on foot, holding the bridle of a mule, ridden by the youngest women, who, seeing no one on the road, that a sort of peddler the preceding caravan of five hundred paces, whipping in front of him a little horse loaded with bales, had rejected his hood back, and by the detection of soft blonde hair, of a wonderful fresh complexion, accused barely seventeen to eighteen years.

The other woman followed the face completely buried in his cap. Head bent by the weight of thought, or by that of the fatigue she seemed perfectly reckless path she followed or rather followed his horse on the extreme top of a rock, a hand, dominated the precipice and, on the other side was dominated by the snow-covered mountain. His mule, more concerned that the road, occasionally lowered his head, sniffing the vacuum and seemed to understand, by the care he took in moving forward a foot when the other three were well assured, all the extent of the danger there was for him to stumble.

This danger was so real, that, not to see and perhaps so as not to give in to the demon of emptiness is called vertigo, and to which it is so hard to resist, the fourth passenger, a young man with hair blond, thin waist and well made, with flashing eyes of youth and life, sitting on his mule in the manner of women, that is to say to one side and his back to the abyss, singing in s ‘accompanied by a mandolin hanging from his neck by a blue ribbon of sky, the following verses, while the fourth mule, got rid of his rider, freely followed the mule of the singer:
Venus is one hundred thousand names
And one hundred thousand other nicknames
Poor lovers outraged;
One says it is harder than iron,
The other is nicknamed Hell
And the other is called mad.

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