“And your father,” I said, “It seems he likes poetry very much? Definitely he has read many poets, hasn’t he?”
“Oh, of course,” she replied, “many, very many. And he’s read them in many languages, even in Sanskrit.”
“Here is a true lover of poetry!” I shouted enthusiastically. “Of course he is! In order for him to enjoy spiritual matters as much as possible, in the middle of the materialistic dullness of life. There’s another reason too. Your father is not ungrateful like those people who eat the fruit without remembering the tree. Your father is also a friend of poets. Where else would you hear that a man has put a whole mansion at the disposal of a Greek intellectual for the sole reason that he is a poet? It’s true that the mansion is in India, that the Greek poet will be driven not in
