Giorgio felt a tightening of his chest. He began to know fear. Why had he been so sure the Nicchio would draw Farfalla? With each capsule opened, fresh beads of sweat rolled down his back. He could feel his shirt cling damply to him. He listened to the pairing in an agony of suspense.
"Ravi to the Caterpillar."
"Mitzi to the Goose."
"Saró non saró to the Tower."
"Anita to the Panther."
"Goia to the Snail."
"Lirio to the Wave."
"Tarantella to the Turtle."
"Fontegiusta to the Unicorn."
Only two contradas left; only two horses left! And now the last spaces in the racks filling in, irrevocably: