Dr. King […] came in, & figured away to his own satisfaction before Mr. Garrick.

It was a blessed little realm. I stopped often in the country towns – Donnybrook, Bridgetown, Busselton, Margaret River — to sit with a cup of coffee or browse through stacks of secondhand books or take a walk along a wooden pier or duney foreshore.

In 1928, on the verge of moving into his pseudo-English mansion on Long Island's North Shore, Cantor was in a state of reflective happiness.

The more I think about it, the weaker it looks.