Barren Leaves*
Mr. Huxley Capitalizes Self-Consciousness
The Story. Mrs. Aldwinkle was proud of Italy. The fauna, the climate, (was it not the best in the world?), the music, the mandolins of Sorrento, the bells of Capri—even the stars that tremoloed with tender, operatic passion in the black night-sky —all belonged to her. She had bought them, it seemed, when she bought the palace of the Cybo Malaspina which perched-a splendid example of baroque architecture—on a hill above the little town of Vezza. Ah, Italy! The boot fitted; she...
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