He flicked through Pavel Armoria’s “Trajectories”, one of the books he’d taken with him: “The room was in darkness. At present, the old man had nothing to wait for. He opened his eyes... Rain covered the town.” This sentence made him somewhat melancholy. The coincidence struck him: it had been raining over Lisbon since he arrived. What did that matter? He was going to roll in the hay with this belle inconnue! No call for the blues, huh? “It’s the first time”, he thought again. “Another good reason to make the most of it, at your age!” added an interior voice.