The learned doctor leaned back and read through what he had just written. It seemed really very poetic to him. He read it through again and relished some of the phrases. In the margin he wrote, ‘Remember; all Cephallonians are poets. Where can I mention this?’ He went out into the yard and relieved himself into the patch of mint. He nitrogenated the herbs in strict rotation, and tomorrow it would be the turn of the oregano. He returned indoors just in time to catch Pelagia’s little goat eating his writings with evident satisfaction. He tore the paper from the animal’s mouth and chased it back
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