“YOU CAN’T BE TRUSTED,” my wife said, with solemnity she reserves for moments of menace, “to go to Salamanca on your own.” The implied aspersion was not on my morals, which are too strongly fortified to topple in a city of such antiquity and respectability, or on my routine incompetence, which all who know me have learned to live with.
What my wife feared was that I would overeat. I always do when I go to
