<html>
  <head>
    <meta content="text/html; charset=windows-1252"
      http-equiv="Content-Type">
  </head>
  <body text="#000000" bgcolor="#FFFFFF">
    Mi è piaciuto, specialmente nella parte in cui viene sviluppata un
    pelino di più la relazione esistente tra la dottora e Basta. Le
    interazioni tra i vari personaggi mi piacciono molto.<br>
    <br>
    Maddy<br>
    <br>
    <div class="moz-cite-prefix">Il 14/07/2015 15:25, Silvia Bianchini
      ha scritto:<br>
    </div>
    <blockquote
cite="mid:CA+=t2B-b5Yq8zpx8s=bUUgKxw6qzRPCfDWtnbiPCu6en5dAexA@mail.gmail.com"
      type="cite">
      <p dir="ltr">Molto bello e condivido in pieno la valutazione di
        Franco soprattutto sul flashback che anche secondo me andava
        sviluppato un po' di più... Ma questo non vuol dire che non si
        possa sviluppare in seguito...<br>
        Brava!<br>
        S.<br>
      </p>
      <p dir="ltr">=========================<br>
        Cadetto Catalunya 'Luna' Jones della Casata di 'Klaa<br>
        Timoniere<br>
        USS Hope - NCC-25122<br>
        =========================<br>
        "Abbassare il limite di velocità!? Certo... salverebbe delle
        vite, ma centinaia di persone arriverebbero in ritardo!"<br>
        ______________________________<br>
        Private comunicator:  <a moz-do-not-send="true"
          href="mailto:ltcomm.sibi@gmail.com">ltcomm.sibi@gmail.com</a></p>
      <div class="gmail_quote">Il 14/lug/2015 15:07, "federico
        pirazzoli" <<a moz-do-not-send="true"
          href="mailto:cmdrtkar@gmail.com">cmdrtkar@gmail.com</a>> ha
        scritto:<br type="attribution">
        <blockquote class="gmail_quote" style="margin:0 0 0
          .8ex;border-left:1px #ccc solid;padding-left:1ex">
          <div dir="ltr">Bello, mi è piaciuto molto, anche se lo ho
            ricevuto come rinvio di altri tre (mi sa che c'è ancora
            qualcosa che non va nelle comunicazioni)...
            <div><br>
            </div>
            <div>Il senso di incertezza davanti alla prima situazione
              veramente pericolosa è palpabile, e mi sembra
              assolutamente corretto. Nessuno è un superman che sa come
              agire in quella situazione assurda, e la mancanza di
              coesione dell'equipaggio è assolutamente azzeccata (anche
              se potenzialmente letale).</div>
            <div><br>
            </div>
            <div>Il conflitto represso tra Rest e Basta, poi, è
              assolutamente adatto e rispecchia in un certo senso quello
              tra Bueller e Xyr...in fondo non sempre le navi hanno un
              Capo della Sicurezza ed un Ufficiale Tattico e ancora
              manca una chiara definizione dei ruoli...</div>
            <div><br>
            </div>
            <div>Ottimo lavoro!</div>
          </div>
          <div class="gmail_extra"><br clear="all">
            <div>
              <div>
                <div dir="ltr">
                  <div><b
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">_________________________________________________________________________</b></div>
                  <b
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">Da</b><span
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">:
                    Comandante del sommergibile </span><i
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">Sea
                    Tiger</i><br
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">
                  <b
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">A</b><span
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">:
                    Ufficio Approvvigionamenti Arsenale di Cavite,
                    Filippine.</span><br
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">
                  <b
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">Tramite</b><span
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">:
                    Comando Forze Subacquee.</span><br
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">
                  <b
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">Oggetto</b><span
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">:
                    Carta igienica.</span><br
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">
                  <b
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">#1</b><span
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">.
                    Il 6 giugno 1941 questa nave ha inoltrato una
                    richiesta di 150 rotoli di carta igienica. Il 16
                    dicembre 1941 detta richiesta è stata restituita con
                    la stampigliatura: "Materiale sconosciuto. Richiesta
                    annullata."</span><br
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">
                  <b
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">#2</b><span
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">.
                    Il Comandante del sommergibile </span><i
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">Sea
                    Tiger</i><span
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px"> non
                    può fare a meno di domandarsi cosa viene usato
                    all'Approvvigionamento di Cavite in sostituzione di
                    questo "materiale sconosciuto", un tempo
                    perfettamente noto a questo Comando. </span><br>
                  <div><span
style="color:rgb(37,37,37);font-family:sans-serif;font-size:14px;line-height:21px">_________________________________________________________________________</span></div>
                </div>
              </div>
            </div>
            <br>
            <div class="gmail_quote">Il giorno 14 luglio 2015 13:50,
              Silvia Brunati <span dir="ltr"><<a
                  moz-do-not-send="true"
                  href="mailto:sbrunati@gmail.com" target="_blank"><a class="moz-txt-link-abbreviated" href="mailto:sbrunati@gmail.com">sbrunati@gmail.com</a></a>></span>
              ha scritto:<br>
              <blockquote class="gmail_quote" style="margin:0 0 0
                .8ex;border-left:1px #ccc solid;padding-left:1ex">
                <div dir="ltr">
                  <div>
                    <div>
                      <div>Eccolo!<br>
                      </div>
                      <br>
                    </div>
                    Critiche e commenti sono ben accetti! :)<br>
                    <br>
                  </div>
                  Silvia<br>
                  <br>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><b><span
                        style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times
                        New Roman","serif"">********************************************************************************</span></b><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""></span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><b><span
                        style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times
                        New Roman","serif"">Brano: 02-02</span></b><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""></span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><b><span
                        style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times
                        New Roman","serif"">Titolo: E
                        ora cosa gli diciamo ai romulani?</span></b><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""></span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><b><span
                        style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times
                        New Roman","serif"">Autore: Lon
                        Basta</span></b><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""></span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><b><span
                        style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times
                        New Roman","serif"">Brano
                        precedente: Del come e del perché ci ritroviamo
                        con una navetta conficcata in
                        Sala Macchine</span></b><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""></span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><b><span
                        style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times
                        New Roman","serif"">********************************************************************************</span></b><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""></span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""> </span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><b><span
                        style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times
                        New Roman","serif"">Accademia
                        della Flotta Stellare - Flashback</span></b><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""></span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify"> </p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">L’istruttore
                    rimase in silenzio, le mani sui fianchi, a fissare
                    il
                    corpo del cadetto privo di sensi, poi trasse un
                    profondo respiro e sollevò lo
                    sguardo per fissare il betazoide.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Si
                    spieghi”, ogni parola era accompagnata dalle strie
                    grigie che solitamente
                    portano alla tempesta.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Il
                    cadetto Bueller si rifiutava di abbandonare la
                    plancia quando era
                    evidente che la nave era perduta”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“E
                    quindi lei lo ha colpito”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Si”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Sul
                    mento”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Si
                    signore”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“E
                    come…”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“L’ho
                    colto di sorpresa”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Capisco,
                    poi?”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“L’ho
                    portato di peso alla navetta”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">L’istruttore
                    inspirò di nuovo a fondo, poi scosse la testa.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Si
                    rende conto che in una situazione reale sarebbe
                    insubordinazione?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Il
                    mio compito era quello di tenere in vita le persone
                    di cui ero
                    responsabile signore, la stupidaggine non è una
                    scusa per far valere un grado”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Un
                    colpo di tosse provenne dalle spalle del betazoide,
                    riflessi di un
                    verde brillante si mescolarono al grigio sempre più
                    intenso proveniente dall’istruttore.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Se
                    ne vada cadetto, tutti voi, andatevene, la lezione è
                    finita”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Senza
                    farselo ripetere due volte, tutta la classe si
                    diresse
                    rapidamente verso l’uscita della sala ologrammi.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“La
                    stupidaggine non è una scusa per far valere un
                    grado?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Già”,
                    Lon si girò verso Melanne ed il sorriso che lei
                    tentava
                    inutilmente di nascondere.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Se
                    lo fai anche con me, la prossima volta che vieni a
                    chiedermi di
                    rattopparti te ne farò pentire”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“A
                    te basterebbe stordirti”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Melanne
                    gli lanciò un’occhiata scandalizzata e fece appena
                    in tempo a
                    cogliere un lampo divertito negli occhi del
                    betazoide.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Gli
                    dovrai chiedere scusa lo sai vero?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Al
                    tenente Graz?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Non
                    fare il finto tonto, Lon! A Bueller”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Vedremo”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify"> </p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><b><span
                        style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times
                        New Roman","serif"">U.S.S. Hope
                        – Plancia – 30 dicembre 2394 - Ore 13:00</span></b><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""></span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""> </span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Situazione”.
                    Ordinò Bueller. Funzionava sempre chiedere la
                    situazione, aiutava a prendere tempo e a ritrovare
                    il controllo.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“E’
                    quella che vede capitano”, rispose Luna mentre si
                    scostava per
                    dargli il comando, “sono comparsi all’improvviso,
                    probabilmente erano
                    occultati, non sembra ci abbiano ancora rilevati,
                    non ci hanno contattati”.
                    Bueller si girò a guardarla, avevano affrontato
                    insieme migliaia di
                    simulazioni, alcune non dissimili da quella, ma
                    entrambi sapevano che non erano
                    reali, ora invece era tutto diverso, quelli erano
                    veri romulani. Luna ricambiò
                    il suo sguardo con fermezza: “mi metto al lavoro per
                    capire come portare fuori
                    la nave intatta da questa situazione, qualcuno mi
                    dia i dati precisi della
                    nebulosa!” Ordinò portandosi alla sua postazione
                    come se fosse pronta a tutto.
                    A Ferris bastò. </p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Nel
                    frattempo manteniamo basse le emissioni della nave
                    il più basse possibile.
                    Signor Tucci?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">L’ufficiale
                    scientifico fissava lo schermo come rapito, le dita
                    della
                    mano destra si muovevano leggermente come se
                    stessero seguendo il tempo di una
                    musica silenziosa, “delle emissioni sarebbe meglio
                    si occupasse la sezione
                    ingegneria", rispose distrattamente dopo qualche
                    secondo. Doohan, già al
                    lavoro, gli lanciò un’occhiata sconcertata.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Signor
                    Tucci?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">L’ufficiale
                    scientifico riportò finalmente l’attenzione su di
                    lui.
                    “Capitano?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“La
                    nebulosa, ci proteggerà?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Er…
                    Dovrebbe, a meno che non fossero già qui quando si è
                    verificato,
                    ehm, l’incidente e che ci abbiano seguito fino alla
                    nebulosa, o che noi abbiamo
                    lasciato una traccia troppo evidente nel
                    raggiungerla e che sia visibile anche
                    attraver…” si interruppe arrossendo sotto lo sguardo
                    del superiore “ci proteggerà,
                    ma devo fare un po’ di calcoli”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Bueller
                    contò fino a dieci ed emise un lungo sospiro, alle
                    sue spalle all’improvviso
                    a Basta venne in mente il tenente Graz. “Li faccia
                    in fretta,” concluse il capitano
                    alla fine spostando l’attenzione sul primo
                    ufficiale, “suggerimenti?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">In
                    quello che ormai era un gesto abituale, l’andoriana
                    portò le mani
                    dietro la schiena e le antenne arretrarono
                    lentamente a seguire il movimento
                    delle spalle che si raddrizzavano, “prendiamo tempo,
                    scopriamo quello che è
                    successo”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Bueller
                    spostò lo sguardo sulla dottoressa: “Il suo paziente
                    è in
                    grado di parlare?”</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Melanne
                    Grahan scosse la testa incerta, “Per pochi minuti,
                    non di
                    più”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Ce
                    li faremo bastare, signor Rest, signor Basta,
                    portatemi delle
                    risposte”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Il
                    betazoide fissò il vulcaniano come se volesse dire
                    qualcosa e
                    ricevette in cambio il sollevarsi appena accennato
                    di un sopracciglio, serrò
                    perciò le labbra e chinò leggermente il capo. “Si
                    signore”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Bueller
                    sentì a mala pena la porta chiudersi alle loro
                    spalle, con lo
                    sguardo fisso sul falco da guerra romulano si
                    domandava se avrebbe dovuto
                    avvertire il capitano Strauss.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">==^==
                    Bueller a <span>Caytlin,</span> consigliere? Come
                    se la
                    cava con i romulani?==^==</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify"> </p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><b><span
                        style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times
                        New Roman","serif"">U.S.S. Hope
                        – Turboascensore – 30 dicembre 2394 – Pochi
                        minuti dopo</span></b><span
                      style="font-size:12pt;font-family:"Times New
                      Roman","serif""></span></p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify"> </p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Nel
                    silenzio più totale Melanne si studiò le dita. Alla
                    sua sinistra,
                    impassibile, Lon fissava le porte del
                    turboascensore, alla sua destra Rest
                    manteneva un’espressione di tranquilla indifferenza.
                    Il betazoide era un
                    maestro nel far sentire le persone a disagio e,
                    anche se funzionava benissimo
                    con lei, la dottoressa dubitava fortemente avesse lo
                    stesso successo sul vulcaniano.
                    Si schiarì perciò la gola corrugando leggermente la
                    fronte.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Come
                    volete procedere?” Chiese al vuoto.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“E’
                    lei il tattico,” a quella frase, pronunciata con
                    freddezza,
                    Melanne roteò gli occhi verso l’alto e guardò il
                    vulcaniano che imperturbabile
                    annuì come se Basta avesse di fatto passato il
                    comando a lui.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Sarebbe
                    meglio che io facessi le domande e lei studiasse le
                    reazioni
                    del presunto ‘signor Sten’, non dovrebbe essere
                    difficile per lei capire se ci
                    nasconde qualcosa”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Già”.
                  </p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">Oh
                    santa pazienza! Melanne si trattenne a stento da
                    dare una gomitata
                    al betazoide.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Vi
                    pregherei di non pressarlo troppo, non vorrei essere
                    costretta ad
                    operarlo di nuovo”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Non
                    accadrà dottoressa”, rispose tranquillo Rest
                    continuando a
                    fissare Basta e Melanne si domandò quanto tempo
                    avrebbe ancora impiegato il
                    turboascensore ad arrivare a destinazione, “sono
                    certo che io ed il signor Basta
                    riusciremmo ad ottenere le informazioni che ci
                    servono senza alcun problema”.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Assolutamente”.
                    Confermò Basta senza distogliere lo sguardo dal
                    vulcaniano.</p>
                  <p class="MsoNormal"
                    style="margin-bottom:0.0001pt;text-align:justify">“Perfetto”.
                    Commentò acida Melanne.</p>
                  <br clear="all">
                  <div>
                    <div>
                      <div>
                        <div>_______________________________________________<br>
                          Stml17 mailing list<br>
                          <a moz-do-not-send="true"
                            href="mailto:Stml17@gioco.net"
                            target="_blank">Stml17@gioco.net</a><br>
                          <a moz-do-not-send="true"
                            href="http://gioco.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/stml17"
                            rel="noreferrer" target="_blank">http://gioco.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/stml17</a><br>
                           <br>
                          <div>------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br>
                            Ci sedemmo dalla parte del torto visto che
                            tutti gli altri posti erano occupati.
                            Bertolt Brecht<br>
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br>
                          </div>
                        </div>
                      </div>
                    </div>
                  </div>
                </div>
                <br>
                _______________________________________________<br>
                Stml17 mailing list<br>
                <a moz-do-not-send="true" href="mailto:Stml17@gioco.net"
                  target="_blank">Stml17@gioco.net</a><br>
                <a moz-do-not-send="true"
                  href="http://gioco.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/stml17"
                  rel="noreferrer" target="_blank">http://gioco.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/stml17</a><br>
                <br>
              </blockquote>
            </div>
            <br>
          </div>
          <br>
          _______________________________________________<br>
          Stml17 mailing list<br>
          <a moz-do-not-send="true" href="mailto:Stml17@gioco.net">Stml17@gioco.net</a><br>
          <a moz-do-not-send="true"
            href="http://gioco.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/stml17"
            rel="noreferrer" target="_blank">http://gioco.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/stml17</a><br>
          <br>
        </blockquote>
      </div>
      <br>
      <fieldset class="mimeAttachmentHeader"></fieldset>
      <br>
      <pre wrap="">_______________________________________________
Stml17 mailing list
<a class="moz-txt-link-abbreviated" href="mailto:Stml17@gioco.net">Stml17@gioco.net</a>
<a class="moz-txt-link-freetext" href="http://gioco.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/stml17">http://gioco.net/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/stml17</a>
</pre>
    </blockquote>
    <br>
  </body>
</html>