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The yellow jets and fountains increase, the lava flow already expands at the Cone's base, untill a different jet, enormous, with which the South East Cone clears his uvula to sing at the top of his voice, explodes oblique. I do not know how, but I understand it is directed precisely towards us. I take my cameras and run under the roof of the Torre del Filosofo hut, shouting «To the shelter!» Apparently I sound convincing enough, because in a few seconds we find ourselves five below the roof. Only ten seconds later dull bumps start coming from the roof. I think: «Now everything can happen», I turn and we see dozens of red bombs falling all around us, breaking in thousands of splinters bouncing this way and that on the snow. Soon the bumping on the roof ends and I find myself to think: «No, nothing will happen anymore».
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