Grecian collusion
I had taken a room in a private house on the outskirts of Monemvasia, and in the evening I walked a mile or so to a taverna for my supper. It was very full and very lively—local people mostly, with some merry Americans. We drank large amounts of furiously resinated retsina out of metal mugs, and I seldom had a happier evening. In the small hours I staggered up the road again to my lodgings, and my landlady, in a flowered housecoat over her nightdress, undid the chains of her front door to let me in. I expected her to be disapproving; instead she greeted me with a sly and knowing smile of collusion, as if she had been enjoyably up to no good herself. I went to bed incoherently whistling, and awoke in the morning fresh as a daisy.
