t so rick -- but t ts simmering flas ive I o noreaked ry bouquet of pink of roses, orange of tiger-lilies, as if my . the day broke around me like a cool dream.

    Sea; sand; a sky t melts into ty pastels  it of being continuously on t of melting. A landscape  udes I played for  afternoon in t met ea-cups and ttle cakes, I, t of cy to give tive of music.

    And, ale. tude of ts turrets of misty blue, its courtyard, its spiked gate, le t lay on t its attics, ts opening on to t departures of t off by tide from land for  castle, at er, a mysterious, ampravening teriality of bots, endlessly, for a lover w lovely, sad, sea-siren of a place!

    tide  t of turned on to t cobbles beter,  for my  ry, c, pressed my fingers, kissed my palm raordinary tenderness. ill as ever Id seen it, still as a pond iced t  alrangely red and naked bettle. he smiled; he welcomed his bride home.

    No room, no corridor t did not rustle ors in tern regalia of rank lined up e faces, ippled ed ligion; t luminous murmurous castle of tle music student  toire.

    First of all, tial intervie traordinary macellated ocean liner, in smootter enuous, I t, migy arce linen ing, correct but lifeless, coo mucatus. . . briefly all my old nurse, so mucent, in old me ter moto most feudal complicity, quot;as muc of t; Nole smile. S, I must be content.

    But,  o be content. In turret suite  over tumultuous Atlantic and imagine myself tein for me in t -- an early Flemisive of Saint Cecilia at ial or