At the very same moment, the young woman is making her way to the rendezvous, firmly intending to make everything clear. She is a woman with a love for simplicity and clarity, and she feels that the imprecisions and ambiguities of a non-existent relationship have gone on too long. She never loved that man, but must admit to having been weak; to a lack of caution in the way she had asked for his aid; to having tolerated the growth of a tacit misunderstanding in which now she feels herself unfairly trapped. The woman is irritated, but prudence advises that she only be decided and calm. She knows that this man is a creature of emotion, a fantasizer, capable of seeing things that are not there, and of trusting in such things with a faith no less constant than empty and unfounded; she also knows this man to have a high opinion of himself, and to be inclined to lie simply to prevent it from suffering humiliation. So, she will be prudent, benevolent, clear-headed.
Punctually, the young man and woman approach their appointed meeting place. Now they have seen each other, have greeted one another, with a gesture in which habit has replaced cordiality. Having reached a distance of only a couple of yards from one another, each halts to survey the other, attentively, in silence; and both are suddenly overwhelmed by a fury of joy, as both understand, and know, that neither of them has ever loved the other.
Giorgio Manganelli, "Centuria"
Who else but an Italian?
God, I hate when that happens.