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Howells, William Dean, 1837-1920

"Familiar Spanish Travels"

He stood
bowing and bowing on tiptoe, as if the wings of his rapture lifted him
to them and would presently fly away with him. He could not drink deep
enough of the delicious draught, put brimming to his lips, and the
divine intoxication must have lasted him through the night, for after
breakfast the next morning I met him in our common corridor at the hotel
smiling to himself, and when I could not forbear smiling in return he
smiled more; he beamed, he glowed upon me as if I were a crowded house
still cheering him to the echo. It was a beautiful moment and I realized
even better than the afternoon before what it was to be a young poet and
a young Spanish poet, and to have had a first play given for the first
time in the city of Granada, where the morning papers glowed with praise
so ardent that the print all but smoked with it. We were alone in the
corridor where we met, and our eyes confessed us kindred spirits, and I
hope he understood me better than if I had taken him in my arms and
kissed him on both cheeks.
I really had no time for that; I was on my way down-stairs to witness
the farewell scene between the leading lady and the large group of young
Granadans who had come up to see her off.


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