Correcting the proofs of a play is an exremely fatiguing business. The upper story in my head was full of noise and movement that prevented me from enjoying the lower storey, where a secure and stable peace reigned.

The master leapt from his saddle, left his companions and ran to the hillside, black cloak flapping over the ground behind him. He looked at the city.  For the first few moments a tremor of sadness crept over his heart, but it soon changed to a delicious excitement, the gypsy’s thrill of the open road.