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LAUGHING TORSO and fiat. The view was magnificent. We sat down and had our supper of wine, bread, olives and sar- dines: one could never escape at any meal from the eternal sardine—it appeared in every form—salted, fresh, boiled and fried. Madame Foujita spoke in a gruff and angry voice, even when she was not annoyed, but that was not often. Foujita was angelic and never answered back or said a word. I don't think that she had ever seen br met an English person before, and she would sit and gaze at me in astonishment for hours. The South American had apparently been very rich once and was an ex-amour of Madame Foujita's. He had a face like a hawk and a long thin body that was rather beautiful and resembled an old ivory Spanish crucifix. He was very Spanish and talked about poetry, life, hope, and the soul. The Pole knew a good deal about Spaniards and laughed at him sometimes. Madame Foujita suspected me of laughing at her too, but she was, I am thankful to say, not quite sure. Foujita painted at home during the afternoons. He did not use an easel, but placed a canvas against a chair and sat on the floor with his legs crossed. He worked with a tiny brush, very rapidly. The South American sat in the sun, drank wine, and blinked his eyes. My Pole and I went out every day to find new motifs to paint. After a week we saw so many sub- jects that we thought that we would have to stay there for about seventy years in order to accomplish them. I tried to paint olive trees. I found them almost impossible. One day we found a beautiful 144