“Do you know Portofino?” the Frenchman said.

I shall have Beauty underground.
Poppæa was once in my tumbrel, you see.
So were blithe Helen and white Iope

And does the wolf still pace the shore.
Still pace, still pace, still pace, still pace.
The shore how still.

          We often elude the scimitars
of the Zouaves among the furniture
                by being geese.

La Consula was a big white house with Doric columns along the front. It sat in a park on the road between Churriana and Alhaurin de la Torre, near the Malaga airport

There was a Rembrandt drawing of a lion above Sabina’s bed. When Francesca sleeps there, the lion looks down on Rose White and Briar Rose Slumbering, or some such scene by Burne-Jones. By day the Rembrandt lion

I was almost fifteen. I was working at my first real job at a place called the Spudnut Shop, a doughnut store, in Union Gap, Washington, June of 1955. This very good looking young man walked in with