Cover

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Frontmatter

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Contents

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p. vii

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Introduction

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pp. ix-xvii

Many of our best writers, capable of writing well about more than one terrain, have set stories both in the land of their upbringing and in places they embraced in later life. Herman Melville was born in New York, but he claimed a whaling ship was his Yale College and his Harvard. His sea voyages enabled him to write about Liverpool...

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The Light in the Piazza

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pp. 3-65

On a June afternoon at sunset, an American woman and her daughter fended their way along a crowded street in Florence and entered with relief the spacious Piazza della Signoria. They were tired from a day of tramping about with a guidebook, often in the sun. The cafe that faced the Palazzo Vecchio was a favorite spot for them; without discussion they sank down at an empty table. The Florentines...

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The White Azalea

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pp. 67-75

Two letters had arrived for Miss Theresa Stubblefield: she put them in her bag. She would not stop to read them in American Express, as many were doing, sitting on benches or leaning against the walls, but pushed her way out into the street. This was her first day in Rome and it was...

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The Visit

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pp. 77-90

Before she had come to Italy, Judy thought that siesta was the word all Latins used for a rest after lunch, but she had learned that you said this only in Spain. In Italy you went to riposarsi, and this was exactly what the great man had done...

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The Pincian Gate

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pp. 91-97

It seemed to her impossible that you could, here in mid-twentieth century, enter a medieval wall through a tiny gate, having pulled an iron chain to jangle a bell high above you, be shouted at hoarsely to"Vieni, vieni!" and, having climbed a twisting narrow flight that smelled of Roman masonry—chilly the year round, exactly as it must have been in Byron's day...

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Wisteria

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pp. 99-103

Charles Webley rather liked his hostess, though he imagined a lot of people didn't. She talked too much, for one thing, but then you didn't have to listen. Her voice was pleasing and made a soothing ripple of sound which broke in occasional laughter. At the moment she didn't mean to be taken seriously. She was hefty, to put it mildly, way too...

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Knights and Dragons

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pp. 105-198

Martha Ingram had come to Rome to escape something: George Hartwell had been certain of it from the first. He was not at all surprised to learn that the something was her divorced husband. Martha seldom spoke of him, or of the ten years she had spent with him. It was as though she feared if she touched any part of it, he would rise up out of the ground and snap at her. As it was he could...

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The Cousins

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pp. 199-239

I could say that on the train from Milan to Florence, I recalled the events of thirty summers ago and the curious affair of my cousin Eric. But it wouldn't be true. I had Eric somewhere in my mind all the time, a constant. But he was never quite definable, and like a puzzle no one could ever solve, he bothered me. More recently, I had felt a restlessness I kept trying without success to lose, and I had...