Papa on a boat

On board S/Y Bushido

In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain and the mountains. In the bed of the river there were pebbles and boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the water was clear and swiftly moving and blue in the channels. Troops went by the house and down the road and the dust they raised powdered the leaves of the trees…

Now the poor little Greek boy is not about to get into a literary argument with Oxford dons, but when was the last time one of them boxed tough guys, bedded beautiful women, and bothered to blow his head off when the talent had flown, as the great Papa Hemingway did? Exiting on time is very important for a writer, and Papa did the right thing.