Chapter 11

           ThenextmorningafterbreakfastIcrossedovertoDemetriades’stable.HehadbeeninthevillagethepreviouseveningandIhadn’tbotheredtowaitupuntilhereturned.Demetriadeswassmall,veryplump,frog-faced,acorfiotwithapathologicaldislikeofsunshineandtherural.Hegrumbledincessantlyaboutthe"disgusting"provinciallifewehadtoleadontheisland.InAthenshelivedbynight,indulginginhistwohobbies,whoringandeating.Hespentallhismoneyonthesetwopursuitsandonhisclothes,andheoughttohavelookedsallowandoilyandcorrupt,buthewasalwayspinkandimmaculate.HisheroinhistorywasCasanova.HelackedtheBoswelliancharm,tosaynothingofthegenius,oftheItalian,buthewasinhisalternatelygayandlugubriouswaybettercompanythanMitfordhadsuggested.Andatleasthewasnotahypocrite.Hehadthecharmofallpeoplewhobelieveimplicitlyinthemselves,thatofintegration.Itookhimoutintothegarden.HisnicknamewasMélihoneyforwhichhewasaglutton."Méli,whatdoyouknowaboutthemanoveratBourani?""You’vemethim?""No.""Ai!"Heshoutedpetulantlyataboywhowascarvingawordonanalmondtree.TheCasanovapersonawasconfinedstrictlytohisprivatelife;inclasshewasamartinet."Youdon’tknowhisname?""Conchis."Hepronouncedthechhardthechofloch."Mitfordsaidhehadarowwithhim.Aquarrelwithhim.""Hewastellinglies.Hewasalwaystellinglies.""Maybe.Buthemusthavemethim.""Popo."PopoisGreekfor"Tellthattothemarines.

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