A roistering infuscate U. S. sailor seated himself with a crash upon one of the shaky iron tables in front of Florian's, most famous of the cafes facing the Piazza San Marco, Venice. Pulling out a wad of 100-lira notes, he tore them one by one across the middle, chanting full-throatedly: "She smacks me, she smacks me not!" Vexed at this insult to the national currency—this tactless hint that it was worthless—angry Venetians closed in upon the sailor, pummeled him, tweaked his broad nose, sought vainly to...

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