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Summary
Subconsciously, Jacopo runs his hand through his cassock, trying to disguise the wrinkles from sleeping sitting up on the train ride, and lightly combs his hair with his fingers, only to be graced with a decidedly rare sight, of strong arms, ordinary clothes, an old confessional book of Saint Augustine of Hippo in his hands, and the most ethereal face he could ever remember seeing, with rustic glasses on the tip of his nose. He sees his new roommate lying in the bed that was once his, and he remembers not saying anything and taking the top one. He remembers as if it were a bad dream all the times Tedesco criticized the appearance of Americans. Maybe he was wrong, which would not be unusual to believe coming from Goffredo, but the constant repetition almost made him believe it.
[...]
Or young seminary Lomellini