Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate. Norris was so frightened that she ordered the postboys to drive back as fast as they could. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. "You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery. We are going to have this chap writing books one of these days.
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