On my fourth day in the city
I looked through the window
and saw a dreamlike figure sauntering by.
He had a sack over his arm, and a stick over his
shoulder,
and he wore a high-crowned hat and a cloak, I think,
and he strolled past easy, insolent and amused.
My heart leapt to see him.
‘Who was that?’ I cried, rushing to the window,
‘that man with the stick, and the high-crowned hat,
and the sack on his arm?’
My hostess returned me reprovingly to our
conversation.
‘I saw nobody,’ she sweetly and carefully said.
‘But tell me, have you had time to see our new Picasso
in the Fine Arts Museum?
And will you have an opportunity to meet with
Mrs Oveta Culp Hobby?’