Sublime

I remember walking along an animated street on a gray spring afternoon somewhere near the Madeleine. A short slim girl passed me at a rapid, high-heeled, tripping step, we glanced back at the same moment, she stopped and I accosted her. She came hardly up to my chest hair and had the kind of dimpled round little face French girls so often have, and

semaphore,

for hadn’t we always dreamed of becoming our mother? Wasn’t that all we had ever once wanted to be?)

he had the eyes of an early-waking farmer.

vicissitudes

Congratulations. I feel so thankful for these small gestures of kindness from foreigners.