In inglese.
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Dall’incipit del libro:
His Holiness had eaten badly and slept even worse. The dinner with the Patriarch of Jerusalem had gone on until late, and by the last glass of wine he was already experiencing the first signs of discomfort. A weight, like a sharp stone, had moved around his stomach all night long. He had lain there with his hands pressed down on his belly, as bloated as a wineskin, and for hours had stared at his night light, down at the entrance, impassively standing guard over his discomfort – so unbecoming to His Holiness, so earthly. His eyes glowed like lanterns at that little distant light and flickered with sudden fear at the thought that he might have been poisoned. Since time immemorial, if a pope died suddenly it was put down to poison, though this was not always the case.
